“A Place of Spirit Grace Memorial” Eugene Oregon

 

There is a small church, “Grace Memorial”, that heralds the title of being the second oldest church in Eugene. It was built in 1898 and is on 2^nd Avenue just around the corner from the Eugene Mission, off of Chambers in the Whittaker neighborhood. I first came to Grace Memorial seven years ago when I was returning from a night of debauchery and seeking some form of solace. As I walked down 2^nd avenue I heard a voice like an Angel emanating from the little white church across the street. I am a person who always follows spiritual messages, quickly changed my path and walked across the street and asked the deacon who happened to be standing outside if services were in session. He replied, “Yes. Come on in.”   I entered into a church with a high vaulted ceiling and two rows of white pews with a grand red carpet that led down the center of the church. Sister Bolden was in full form singing a powerful spiritual. Her voice lifted to the heavens like the doves portrayed in Icons and in full color like the stain glass window that bathe the rear of the church in multicolored majesty.

The congregation is made up of a devout Afro-American family, the Boldens, with Bishop Norman Bolden as their great Patriarch and great grandfather to the littlest Boldens who can be seen doing a special march on Christmas day. On Easter bonnets of all colors and zeal can be seen adorning the ladies of this church. The whole family, of four generations of Boldens attends Grace Memorial with an amazing devotion and reverence.

 The talent in this family can be herd as gospel spirituals that reverberate and resound from the voices of each generation from Bishop Bolden in his early 70’s singing, “This little light of mine” to his great grand daughter, a four year old, singing, “Victory is mine”. American Idol would be hard pressed to find this much talent in a large metropolis much less than in one place, one church, one family.

There is one thing that Grace Memorial has that over shadows the talent held by the attendees; it is the “Spirit” which permeates every corner, heart, and smile of this congregation. I am often amazed by the “message” given by pastor Simian or one of the other Bolden men and how it often speaks directly to someone who needs it. This I have witnessed many times and even been graced with during my many years of attending this wonderful church. I invite you to come and feel the spirit yourselves and worship within the blessed walls and gifted voices of Grace Memorial, and maybe you too can find the joy I have found in this small spirit-filled church.

 Chef John Ernst aka Thor

"Laughter Experiment Explodes in Nations Capital Washington D.C."

Speaking of experimenting. Each family in return would fly or make the long drive to Takoma Maryland, and this year's guest was the Fisher family. I had been having so much fun running around the Washington D.C. Mall and its many museums, and historical features that as a boy I knew all so well. I was at opening day of the Air and Space museum and loved finding the supper cool museum of history snuck away full of great Engines of the past. It was on one these trips I tried an experiment, a simple experiment. How long would it take me to get everybody to laugh at once by the pure act of just laughing. I knew Mark was a shoe in and Mary might fall into giggles as I laughed and laughed. I laughed even harder when first Mark kept looking at me and I would look back and laugh at my secret experiment. "What are you laughing at?" he kept saying. Over and over for the first hour or so. I was really dug into this experiment and decided to see it to its end, and longer I did it, the plain just rootin-tootin,  he-haw, of the whole thing had me shaking in the seat and sliding down to the floor of the station wagon in a mini-crouch my body in convulsions from my personal joke, this was the 70's we had no seat belts and kids still clamored around the inside of cars like a jungle gym. I keep laughing in different tones by now as I had Mark beginning  to bubble in laughter, he would look then look like I was being disobedient then start laughing and quickly turn, I would laugh harder. The thing, the true art of laughter is to laugh so hard you can't stop, just for that moment you can't stop, heaving, eye's well up in tears, back arched, kicking your feet laughter, rolling off whatever piece of furniture, down out, twisting and turning laughter, and really to do that well you need back up. I had a car full. It was Mary next, and even John,  or Becky, or even Joe would look back to see what was so funny.  Joe would make his noise, with a lip finish like "BBBBBB" real fast, then a little laugh, Mary started watching cause I had Mark now going full on, then unison to voices captured the first word ,"What?"

 "What,.. is so funny?" now it became more than a laugh someone else had said, "What" I laughed, so hard bent over my gut began to hurt by then, and my face had a work out straining to keep the laughter from over whelming me. I waited laughing. Mary started watching Mark and I more closely and soon her intermittent laughter began dancing in and out of our melee. I was determined, and at this point I had been laughing just after I got the idea as I passed  through the closet upstairs heading to the bathroom to brush my teeth. I laughed dressed had breakfast, got in the car and headed down town a good solid 2 hours of laughing. At some point Uncle Jim started saying, "What is he laughing at.?" snapping his voice in question with a grin on his face as he turned to look at what might have caused such a stir while driving. I had them all now and I reeled them in for the grand crescendo. Uncle Jim keep asking what is he laughing at until the wall fell, one by one, and then Uncle Jim started just hooting, and cracking back while he drove. Aunt Cathy was patting her leg and laughing just straight ahead after one look at all of us in the back seats she was all in, kids laughing "ya know?" We all lay into the greatest conglomeration of squeals, haw haw's, BBBBB,s who-ha-inest, lay on the plastic mats on the floor looking up at the ash tray we filled with rocks for grandpa laughing. Well that is where I wound up., everyone laughed; they loose from that station wagon what could be to an looker at that time to be complete hysterics. Experiment a success, I let my laughter slow; you see when you been laughing that hard it's dangerous to completely stop, you got to ease on the brakes. Everyone slowly began to fall out of the symphony of laughter, I tapped again. Mark hit a pole, and lost it. Cathy and the other girls hair gone wild were trying to right themselves after being caught in the torrent, Joe he just 'BBBB" and was out. Jim was attempting to navigate downtown D.C. for the first time "OMG" and regain the car from a endless circle we got caught in while we hooted, and then hollering went straight, Mary picked her head out of the windshield cause she had bounced a seat up, and Mark was turning donuts around the tree cracking up wildly hanging on to his part. I tapped the brakes again, my breathing in wisps' and ahh, laugh, ahh breath, laugh, swinging an arm in silence fending off the humor, in a few minuets we were down to chuckle, and one more time from the front seat Uncle Jim asked, "What is so...Funny?"

I said, "We are. Pausing again to catch another breath, "I wanted to see how long it took for everyone to laugh if I just started laughing, and we did."

Uncle  Jims amazement showed that a nine year old kid could come up with such ideas really astounded him, and gave me a few more seconds of strong laughter as everybody got the simple joke of life is to laugh sometimes, just for the sake of it. I fully agreed, was sore and still on a come down gut and lungs shot, trying not to let few a last round or two but still in the eddy, I would laugh throughout the day, as we visited the museums, often getting another to fall back into it often Mary, and Mark would not be able to go in anyplace with me where you had to be quiet. A few funny looks from me and that tickle was still there and we would run from some exhibit area laughing at life, the whole day was infected with a humor that should not be left alone too long with kids.  

THOR

                

 

“Chasing a Dream”

The bright sights, active sounds, and vivid smells tell the story of a life style which I have fell in love with. I have been in the culinary field for twenty odd years and find it a passion, which never bores me, and always finds constantly changing and new horizons to challenge my mind and experience. Some people may enter this field with aspirations’ and hopes’ of owning their own establishment. I to have these goals; furthermore, I am making them a reality by my vision and my actions. My vision is a restaurant/ club, “The Thunder Café” which I can see clearly in my mind, from the foyer which has pictures representing social activists, groups, and clubs who brought about change and today’s unique cultures, to how my establishment will be a gathering place that gives back to the community by hosting children’s shows and an interactive forum for the whole community. The menu has continued to grow and shape in my mind for the last ten years. The educational plan to reach these goals has been in effect for the same. I shall finish my culinary degree at Lane Community College focusing on what it takes to open and run a food establishment to prepare me for the great adventure of opening, “The Thunder Café”.

 

“Changes" with Cryptic Answers

            Every once and a while a class comes along and changes how we feel about our position in the world and the work we have done. This class has been such a conduit for me. In my interest and zest in social movements of the past has shown me in no uncertain terms the vast amount of net working and organization that it has taken to achieve major change in American thinking and culture. What I thought was an objective view of a social injustice becomes more and more a subjective view of what I have seen through my life.  The movement or concept Peace-Up which speaks and calls for a change or end to the Drug War which I created as a social movement, now evermore becomes a personal story of what I have seen and experienced. I now see with a much clearer vision the truth of my work and personal struggle.

            My father and I often bounce ideas that revolve around writing and personal experience ever returning to one or the other of us stating that I should write more personal stories. The other night I found myself extremely introspective, taking account of my blessings and short comings; in doing so brought myself to the idea of Peace-UP Dragon. You see the human in me was shying away from a pain, a pain that became evident in my actions when I tore down my wall of work in my home. Upon this wall was my work, the concept peace-UP with Dragon in the center. I uncovered the remnants of this wall and found my self reading Dragon with a fever and making lots of notes in the margins. These notes carried one overwhelming theme that I should take a more personal voice in my work. I began thinking of all the stories I tell people and even the others that are my private little miracles that I could put down on paper. It seems like a good idea.

            I look for cryptic answers. Well let’s see what does that mean. I pray for signs and then look for the answer. Everybody has herd of that. I get funny little answers or lessons. Ill let you be the judge, for there is one such message on the desk next to me.  It reads “.Vision there & about sweat”.  Now here comes the context.

            Enter Tuesday as the last day in a long row of days creating the physical part of the memorial I created to honor Citizens of this town who passed due to alcohol, drugs, homelessness, or other circumstances. The four signs a 8’x4’ by 1inch slab of malimar (Press wood) with a 4” x4” 8 feet long posted on each end suggested a logistical problem that I had not as of yet resolved. We have our question. Oh yeah. Here we are Tuesday. I put on orange socks (my stolen jail socks don’t tell.) with all black dress clothes and a red tie. Lets not forget the ORANGE hat that made may socks look faded. My goal for the day find a way for the signs to go from I & 19^th in Spinfield (that’s a typo, honest well believe me if you want) to Washington and Jefferson park. I begin by tiding up and looking for paperwork. On my fridge I have a plethora of those little magnetic words enough so I sweep them up often and find them all over the house. I place them on the fridge or in containers that hold nick-nacks. Enter the seeds of our message. One such seed the word “there” is how our message started. I one forever being aware and looking for my “message” randomly began pulling words from this small group forming most of the above mentioned message. I was versed in this part of the game; I pulled one more, “about” that settled it. Message received. I tried a shot gun approach from enlisting neighbors, the phone and a funny little sign stating “25 $ I hour full sized truck call Thor”. I could go of on a tangent about background music in my head and DMX yet I relent. The sign pulled 4 phone calls.

Craig showed up Thursday afternoon in a Chevy S10 and was sure we could pull it off. I’m a pretty big guy and I have moved a lot of stuff including the signs from last year in a F250 ¾ ton. I wasn’t as sure as him. We teepee the signs legs up in the bed, they stayed. It was his idea. I was still skeptical until we drove away. It worked, well. The whole job digging wholes and righting the signs took about two hours; 10-15 minuets a hole. I was sore and my neck had a crick. Holes with a post-hole-digger is work.  

Thor.

“Grandma Lucille O'Shea Murray”

My grandma’s name was Lucile O’Shea Murry a society woman from upstate New York in a city called Rochester. She lived in an old four pillared mansion a half block off of Park Avenue. It was a classic Victorian with a grand foyer that had great sliding doors off each entrance to the a joining rooms, the living room with a large oil painting of my mother at age thirteen over the marble fireplace, and the dinning room which had hundred year old stain-glass windows. My grand father passed when I was five, so it was just grandma and me when I came for visits. My parents would put me on the plane by myself, and grandma would be waiting to pick me up when I landed. She used to call me the “Master of the House”. We used to take long walks together on Park Avenue, and she would tell me the ways of a gentleman, how to meet ladies, even down to how you shook their hand and inclined your head according to their position and marital status. I was privy to being treated in a way that children today never see unless they come from blue blood. Some of these days I spent with my grandma are the most memorable of my childhood. Though she has long passed what she taught me is still ingrained when I find myself in social circles. I miss you Grandma Murry; love John.

THOR

“Goal”

If you want it bad enough; you will be willing to go to extremes to get it, which may include personal sacrifice and suffering, learning new ideas, and changing your belief system. The old adage “A quitter never wins, and a winner never quits” is easier said than done. Some goals may take a day and others a lifetime of struggle. There are those who never saw the fruition of their work achieved, yet they were willing to give their life to the cause. Success is often achieved not by the goal, but by the indomitable will that spurs a person to go up against all odds because their faith and belief that their goal is right and true. Some of the greatest achievements of mankind have been achieved against over whelming odds against far superior numbers and opinion. The amount of suffering for all those involved is measured only against their will to see a war to the end, for the battle never stops though it may take any form. If you truly wish to make a major change be of mind to let go of all you fear to lose; only in doing this can you be ready for what may lay ahead. Failure is reserved for those who cannot and will not change.

      If you spend your life in fear; you have failed. If you give up when you believe others will finish for you; you have failed. If you do not love; you have not lived. “Do not go quietly into that soft gentle night. RAGE against the dieing of the light.” Be assured hopeless causes are often the most important to take. Have faith, and nothing is hopeless. By the struggle we win. By charity we live. By faith we shall see the goal in our hearts and never give up.

THOR

 

 

  

“Attack”

     The light; was it aimed at me? A laser scope, it must be. I think my eyes are open; not sure, not sure, am sure. Are they? Scream “esus”, so muffled. Lips trembling; scream “jesus”. I try, but I can’t. Try harder “jesus…jesusss, Jesus”; barley audible a torn whisper drowned in my throat. The light is pointing, pointing right at me. Can’t move my head, my arms; foot twitches. The green light on the weapon is aligning with the red one on the scope. When it does the weapon will discharge. Silent “NO!” I’m sleeping; I’m dreaming with eyes’ open.   Can’t focus, the lights are aligning. Are my eyes’ open? My mouth moving in a pantomime of terror I try to claw at the dark yet lay frozen in fight. I’m sleeping. I’m dreaming. I must wake. Are my eyes’ fluttering under cracked lids? Am I speaking…yelling…screaming? “jjjesus” a stuttering croak; “Jesus” an escaped word from the darkness. “JESUS” I SCREAM!!

     I’m awake. It was a dream. The red light is still there… on my DVD player; so is the green one on my T.V. How would they align? My vision still swims. Heart is pounding. The fright slowly bounces around my small room chasing the echo of my fading scream. I sit up trying to shake my nightmare, yet it clings like remnants of reflection in a broken mirror. I sit up and open the door at the foot of my bed. The cool night washes over my bed calming me like a lover’s gentle touch. I sit with elbows on knees cradling my head in my hands. I’m tired. Nightmares every night for over a week; I’m furious now. I lift my head and yell “GET OUT OF MY HEAD” into the soft gentle quiet night.

 

THOR

“Fifty Seven Percent”

 

          “The depopulationists were running the show these days whether people like it or not, yet some did. The turning point of world rule was handed down to us by a handful of scientists and the rich who had combined to create the first fission reaction. The whole world rejoiced upon hearing that practically free energy would be available to the masses. Little known by the world was the scientists who created this gift had done calculations on the impact free-energy would have to the population, and to our most important resources, the earth, the soil, and most of all the ability to maintain a population explosion that would occur in the future. We would all starve in a hundred years. They decided to withhold their gift due to these findings. The world screamed in rage, and vowed to take possession of this great power. Never poke the bear. The first bomb hit China 600 million people died in a flash of light. We listened ready or not. The worlds population would population would be systematically cut down by an additional fifty-seven percent.

            The order of the Deputiz was created. Their job was to kill over half the world population. Those who resisted like Mexico and several countries in the middle east found them selves in World War III over night. Another flash and Mexico city was gone for that matter the yield of this bomb was enough to take down half of southern California. Los Angeles and all ports south stretching down the coast to Mexico city were gone. The United States who compromised over forty percent of the fighting force enlisted in the “Order” and took their anger out on those countries in the middle east who still felt compelled to resist the Deputiz. Conventional weapons were the only means used. The use of nuclear weapons was expressly forbidden, for fission bombs cause no radiation, and thought their yield may be greater their long-term impact on the environment was not as detrimental. Within one year the whole world was under the rule of the Depopulationists with the Deputiz as their hand of death.

            The lottery began. The only ones who were exempt from the lottery were the gifted and those showing a superior aptitude in the arts, sciences, athletics, or a new  arena, those displaying gifts of ESP. The whole world was put through the testing process on country at a time. People got the impression this would add time to their possible sentence of death, for the world is a big place with many people. This was not the case as in Africa for example. The Deputiz army created a line from the sands of Egypt to the Ivory Coast and began their march south, along the way testing and the lottery were done simultaneously. Africa was completed in three months. Seven armies coordinated across the world and finished the immense project in six months. Depopulation began.

            All over the world people were saying goodbye to their loved ones. The lottery numbers had been tattooed on the hands of those who were chosen, and a detailed description logged and repeated in a vast computer bank. The numbers were called at the beginning of every month, and the persons called had two weeks to report. This first two weeks of every month were full of parties and wild abandon. In the rich countries such as America people were given a government check when their number came up, a sort of last hurrah. In the third world countries whole towns became the sight of celebration with food and entertainment sponsored by the first world countries for the first ten days of the month. The second half of each month had a whole different feel.

            The killing machines were run by inmates, people whose numbers had come up, and soldiers. The general population who were chosen to work in some capacity of this work were put into positions that would not mare their psyche, not everyone is cut out to kill. The inmates were on the lottery lists and the soldiers were career men, so needing to mainstream mass killers back into the general population was not a consideration. Some still went mad. The people were given a sleeping gas and their unconscious bodies loaded onto a conveyer belt which entered an automated building of sorts. Within this building a heavy weight would drop on their skulls killing them instantly. Then their bodies would be ground bones and all finally coming out the other end the consistency of gruel. This would be shipped off to places like the bomb sights of China and North America were the land had been decimated and large scale replanting was taking place. Humans were used as fertilizer for future generations.        

            My grandfather tells me stories of the last days of depopulation when his father was a soldier. I find it hard to believe sometimes. Well I guess the life of a twelve year old boy of these days is so far removed from that era and the enormity of the deaths is un-comprehendible.”

            Joey put down his report and picked up a old faded yellow piece of paper and showed it to the class. “This is an actual lottery ticket that belonged to my great, great grand uncle.”

The whole class “oooed”  and “aaahhed” as they looked at, a piece of history.

THOR