I’ve been fortunate, in one sense, because I was raised without the need to appear in whatever the culture says is the current uniform and never had the suburban affliction of being afraid to be seen in Wal Marts and thrift stores.

The truth is I like to hunt for the bargains and there’s a certain joy in finding something special in a shirt for less then three bucks. I have a whole wardrobe of Eddie Bauer stuff and I’d be surprised if I paid more than $30 for the whole lot. Last night I bought an Eddie Bauer sweater and shirt for less then $8 and a dress shirt for work, great condition and one wash away from being mine, for $2.99. It’s amazing what people throw away and a wise person can capitalize on other’s waste.

There’s a morbid part of it for me as well as I can have a tendency to a black sense of humor and often call what I wear “dead guy shirts” because I know someone probably passed away, especially in the case of the better stuff, and I’m reaping what the family sowed. But such is the nature of things and I know that one day when I have shed away this mortal coil my clothes will also find their way to the thrift store. It’s the circle of life don’tcha know and I feed in it now and it will feed on me later. Cue Elton John.

It’s also kind of a protest against the way of things in this world. I get caught up in it, for sure, but sometimes I just like to stick a thumb in the eye of the idea that life is just a never ending round of purchases dictated by some folks somewhere out there in the ether who are labeled as “trend setters”. They’ve convinced people to change and throw away not for the good but for the whim and I’ll profit from their insanity by keeping both my head and my hard earned money in this man made hurricane.

Huzzah and excelsior! Fellow cheapskates and dissidents of the world unite. You have nothing to lose but your chains and you’re one wash away from starving the beast.

2012 is not the end of the world.

with a fine dusting of global warming on the grass and roof. No sense washing the car yesterday because I knew it was coming.

Most of the trees are still green, some are flecked with color, but imagine their surprise at what came in the night. If this keeps up it could be a long winter. Is there ever a short one in these parts? But my couch is comfortable and the cat on the other end is snoring the morning away, tail tucked around head, whiskers twitching as it dreams.

Life is full of small blessings, a night of sleep, a morning with sun, a place that’s warm to stay in, a hundred things that pass us by in the ordinary business of life. But on a Saturday morning when a powdering of snow catches the sun through the clouds one quiet moment brings it to mind.

And now to the day.

in church. The wave of crimes in churches have some clergy giving new meaning to the words “piece be with you…” After the recent Midwest Parish Life Conference where armed guards were present to protect our Bishop Mark from a threat by a parishioner at a Michigan church, this story is not an abstraction. Who knows what disgruntled soul with a gun could step into any church?

The point, though, is moot for Orthodox clergy. We, unlike Protestant clergy, cannot carry weapons. Although a holster would fit nicely under the epigonation (For those who aren’t Orthodox an epigonation is a diamond shaped vestment worn on the right hip).

Just kidding folks.

Hat tip to Craig.

to speak with my Bishop Mark yesterday night along with other clergy from our deanery (a deanery is a small grouping within a diocese). I was impressed.

If there was a person would had every right to be bitter and jaded about everything that has happened it would Bishop Mark but there was nothing of the sort as he spoke with us. He spoke from his heart and his heart was not dark or angry. He spoke of how all of this has drawn him closer to Christ. We had questions and he had answers but no recriminations, no hostility, and no resentments. For about two hours we got to see what a Bishop truly is and I am better for it.

Many years!

It’s an obscure place. North on 8th Street, right on 315th, left on Gull, Clear Lake Iowa. Look for the pair of glasses and then walk 1/2 mile west along the fence.

I was pondering whether to go at all. I had no desire to feed the macabre side of human nature and my imagination went to what it must have been like in those last few moments. Did they know? Did they have time to prepare? What thoughts raced through their heads in the cold winter night as gravity overcame technology and pulled them to earth?

The wind came from the west, cold, and shedding mist as clouds passed before the sun. The sky was wide as it is in these places where trees are scarce. We walked, hand in hand, on a dirt path keeping an eye on the fence. Somewhere along the wire there would be a break and we would know.

Towards the end of the field was a small metal sign. Buddy Holly. Ritchie Valens. Big Bopper. 50 years ago a small plane with three rising stars fresh from the applause was suddenly brought down to earth just minutes after it took off for North Dakota and the hope of a warm bed. For the next hours the bodies would lay in the snow waiting for others to discover that the bus with the band had arrived but they were not to be found. Valens was still in his teens and the Big Bopper had not yet reached 30.

We paused for a minute as the breeze circled around us and the air got colder. Rain from a cloud far away fell in a short burst as we walked away. It was almost 7 at night and the fields were quiet except for the sound of the wind. Everything else was silent and at rest as Iowa prepared to sleep.