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Our new time treasure
Dec. 27th, 2006 01:01 pmEarly this morning, I found myself performing my daily ritual of summoning forth consciousness and rationality into the otherwise primal and violent world that is “morning.” Arranged in just the right order on the altar that is our dining room table, the symbolic objects of this ritual took their rightful place in an effort to please the gods of first light. To the left of my placemat, the very heart of my ritual space, a newspaper rested ready to be torn through in a proverbial burnt offering to progress and learning. To my right, a cup of coffee – eternal in its blackness, representing both the peace and tranquility of night, and the ability to transition into waking self through caffeinated joy.
About midway through this age-old ritual, my dear husband approached to share his latest treasure. Arriving in the mail yesterday from some faraway hub of Ebay, we were now the proud parents of another old postcard. This one, a card from the 1920’s, showed a long-since demolished church that had once graced this old city of ours. In fact, one can clearly see in the picture how the church once resided on our very street, right next to the Church of the Messiah, which is where we were married – excuse me, where we had the “Blessing of our Union” ceremony.
The building in the postcard looks quite impressive. Built in a neoclassical style, the church looks more like a classical temple or courthouse than what we would now consider to be a “church”. How impressive and massive it must have been. Sadly, no trace of it remains today. In its place, a Jack in the Box now brings in business, right next to Messiah – the last vestige of what was once a block of just churches. Despite not being Christian, I cannot help but feel some sort of reverence to “sacred space.” I don’t really care what denomination of faith it is. When an area is used and revered as sacred space, it bothers me to think of it being desecrated and used for something else. The idea of a Jack in the Box sitting on what was once a church is just wrong to me. I guess they really DID pave Paradise to put up a parking lot. Le sigh.
To add more interest to our new treasure, the postcard has been used. Sent off to a friend in L.A. when the card was new, the handwritten message had come from a woman who had apparently just moved into a new home in our neighborhood, just one street over from us. Along with her address, she also lists her phone number, a series of four digits, and one letter. Chuckle! As long as I have been around, phone numbers have always been seven digits with an area code. The very thought of anything else is as far-removed to me as China.
Perhaps sometime tonight or tomorrow, we will walk over to French Street and see if we can find the address. Chances are, the house of the long-ago sender is no longer around. But then again, one never knows. In our neighborhood of patchwork progression, nestled in between hideous condo’s of the 60’s, one can find the occasional bungalow of the 20’s, and even earlier homes. Maybe the “new” home from the 20’s is still around? Maybe the silent voice of the excited new owner can once again be heard by the new owner of the now very old “new” house.
Here’s to another unexpected merry little adventure.
About midway through this age-old ritual, my dear husband approached to share his latest treasure. Arriving in the mail yesterday from some faraway hub of Ebay, we were now the proud parents of another old postcard. This one, a card from the 1920’s, showed a long-since demolished church that had once graced this old city of ours. In fact, one can clearly see in the picture how the church once resided on our very street, right next to the Church of the Messiah, which is where we were married – excuse me, where we had the “Blessing of our Union” ceremony.
The building in the postcard looks quite impressive. Built in a neoclassical style, the church looks more like a classical temple or courthouse than what we would now consider to be a “church”. How impressive and massive it must have been. Sadly, no trace of it remains today. In its place, a Jack in the Box now brings in business, right next to Messiah – the last vestige of what was once a block of just churches. Despite not being Christian, I cannot help but feel some sort of reverence to “sacred space.” I don’t really care what denomination of faith it is. When an area is used and revered as sacred space, it bothers me to think of it being desecrated and used for something else. The idea of a Jack in the Box sitting on what was once a church is just wrong to me. I guess they really DID pave Paradise to put up a parking lot. Le sigh.
To add more interest to our new treasure, the postcard has been used. Sent off to a friend in L.A. when the card was new, the handwritten message had come from a woman who had apparently just moved into a new home in our neighborhood, just one street over from us. Along with her address, she also lists her phone number, a series of four digits, and one letter. Chuckle! As long as I have been around, phone numbers have always been seven digits with an area code. The very thought of anything else is as far-removed to me as China.
Perhaps sometime tonight or tomorrow, we will walk over to French Street and see if we can find the address. Chances are, the house of the long-ago sender is no longer around. But then again, one never knows. In our neighborhood of patchwork progression, nestled in between hideous condo’s of the 60’s, one can find the occasional bungalow of the 20’s, and even earlier homes. Maybe the “new” home from the 20’s is still around? Maybe the silent voice of the excited new owner can once again be heard by the new owner of the now very old “new” house.
Here’s to another unexpected merry little adventure.
