Are you Catholic?

when I was a little girl my mom went on a church shopping binge. we’d go to a different denomination every week and it was kind of fun. I was only 7 so I didn’t know a lot about God then. we went to a presbyterian church, a quaker’s meeting place (I liked how they were called “friends.”) presbyterian, methodist, unitarian were a few others and I don’t remember them being that interesting. one time two boys riding bicycles came to our suburban neighborhood and my curious mom let them in while my dad was at work. anyone who knows anything about the mormons know how exciting it was for them as they were, in fact, doing their godly duty and probably got a lot of doors shut in their sweet faces. they stayed for an hour or so and she asked lots of questions. they asked if they could come back the next day and I was ready, hidden behind the couch listening. there was talk of hell and salvation, words that were new to me and a little advanced. this went on for a week when finally my dad told them that was enough.

since I know the importance of community and since I’m “not from around here” as the southerners say, I vowed to start church shopping myself. since there’s a big ole baptist church right across the street from me I went there first. they were very welcoming and I met a couple very nice church ladies who I go out to lunch with sometimes. I tried a Moravian one since their history is rich here in Winston Salem, North Carolina. their churches are beautiful but I found the sermons a bit dry. but their cemeteries are to die for! one called “god’s acre” is huge and very old, some graves dating back to the 1700’s. the infamous R.J. Reynolds himself is buried there (probably died from smoking). they are buried according to their marital status and gender rather than with their families and there’s a big sad plot of only babies with gravestones that read, “our little angel, too beautiful for earth” and “loved beyond words, missed beyond measure” with little lambs and angels engraved on them.

having run the gamut of churches that passed muster (I stopped short of snake handling pentecostals and those that didn’t have any particular message) I just wanted to go to a beautiful building and remembered that the catholics had that covered. I found “St. Leo the Great” in a nice neighborhood near me that started at a not too godly hour. I youtube’d the “rules” so I wouldn’t look silly and learned how to genuflect properly and bless myself with holy water. I am a sucker for rituals and rituals are not in short supply there. from the moment I walked in to the packed tabernacle full of babies and kids and LIFE I felt at home. I remembered the Lord’s Prayer but lip synced a lot. it was like a broadway play when the entourage entered complete with smoke and gowns and all things holy. I got some cardio getting up for recitations, down on my knees for prayer. when It came time for communion I got a little nervous. I had partaken a few times in the past but I wanted to do it right. I got in the line and was soon face to face with the priest himself. I held out my hands as I had watched the others do but he just looked at me then down to a gold mirror thing I didn’t recognize. I froze and looked into his eyes. “are you catholic?” he asked. without thinking (or god forbid lying) I said, “my father was catholic and I think I was baptized as a baby.” “I’m gonna just give you blessings” he said and made the sign of the cross.”no body of christ for you!” I thought, thinking of the soup nazi on Seinfeld. I thanked him and wondered if everyone thought I was trying to cheat as I walked back to my pew, head held high. as the service winded down I searched my soul for answers. did god really care if I was “officially” catholic? I suppose they’re allowed to have rules though they’ve broken a few in the past…(isn’t that what forgiveness is for?)but I don’t think a forgiving yet righteous god is keen on them shuffling priests from parish to parish to repeat their gruesome sins yet again. as I left the building there was an assembly line of sorts and I made a point to talk to the priest who had denied me. “what do I need to do to come to this church?” I asked him and he told me of an adult class that was starting soon and told me to get a brochure. I might go to the first meeting and see what it entails and I might not. my sons love Krishna and my mom loves Jesus and they all seem very happy. there are hundreds of names for God and if he is truly loving and forgiving does he really care what we call him if we are sincere and genuinely seeking the truth? and as I continue my own journey with all things spiritual I may slip back into St. Leo’s and hang in the back or at least get blessings. amen and hallelujah!

Photo by Sebastian Palomino on Pexels.com

Dashing for Dollar$

when dreaming of my perfect career as a younger gal it didn’t involve driving my car all around kingdom come (where exactly is that?) delivering all manner of fast and slow food to hungry, lazy folks. especially as I approach my 60th year of life. yet here I am, scheduling dashes (which I must remember to do as I’ve lost my privileges as a “platinum dasher” when I can “dash now” anytime I want to). besides being able to work at will I haven’t found many other benefits after watching countless hours on YouTube by enthusiastic dashers. of course Doordash will trick you into thinking you’re getting extra benefits, like when you call customer service and they thank you profusely for being a platinum dasher (I admit I fell into the trap and felt myself feeling proud and better than those peon regular dashers). then I met a regular dasher at a restaurant who told me his acceptance rate was only 19 percent (you have to have an acceptance rate of 70 percent to be platinum) what that means is that they send you loads of crap orders like “drive 15 miles for $2.50” or “do 3 shopping orders (simultaneously) for $15”. bottom line…doordash ALWAYS wins. I feel like I have a video game for a job. I hear the “ping” sounds in my sleep. it was hard to let my rating go though as I declined crappy order after crappy order, watching my rate go down. they even give you a second chance, “are you SURE you want to decline?” they say and the lower acceptance rate is in red, indicating danger. but I got brave and now mine’s down to 40 percent. I try and only take orders that are at least $7 and ideally $1/mile. I’ll bend the rules if it’s a pretty drive in the country or a restaurant I particularly like, where the food is ready or close to ready, the people are nice and I can torture myself with the delicious aromas of mellow mushroom pizza or a perfectly cooked steak. they also usually produce higher tips. I try to make it fun and carry a plethora of multicolored sharpies and write cute notes on the bags. my latest creative project is writing something like, “have a marvelous Monday!” or “have a terrific Tuesday!” if I’m delivering to a high school kid I might write “have an awesome day!” but it backfired once when I thought I was delivering to a teacher and went all out with little doodles and even taped a fresh flower to the bag. imagine my (and his) surprise when I handed said bag to a lanky high school boy surrounded by his buddies. oh well, kindness is always a good thing and I’d rather err on the side of mushy niceness than the boring old plain bag. plus, it amuses me. I could write pages (and probably will) about the stories of the situations I find myself in, the ungodly amounts of money and miles I put on my lil Prius that is still owned (to the tune of $14k) by Toyota financial corporation. of the things we dashers find to be strangely true…like if you get an order for cases of water, beer or soda it’s going to go to a 3rd story apartment building. but it’s good cardio and I can count my steps. it’s not a dream job by any stretch of the imagination but it’s something I can do on my own terms. my favorite mind game is to wake up every day and say, “I can take the day off if I want!” and I curl back into bed or do an extra half hour of sun salutations and then, when my scheduled dash time arrives I usually talk myself into working anyway, but I get the delicious feelings of having the day off. and these bills ain’t gonna pay themselves! I have no benefits, no health insurance, I pay for my own gas, oil changes and car maintenance and am supposed to be putting money aside for taxes (I did until I needed that money) but I use an app to track my miles and am praying to the dashing gods that come tax time I won’t have to pay too much to the man. I apply for “real jobs” all the time, even though in 2025 the minimum wage here in North Carolina is $7.25 (yes, you read that right) and there are lots of jobs, even menial ones, that this child of the 70s and 80s has phased out of thanks to AI. I’m sure there will be robots delivering food before we know it, I know there are self driving Ubers in LA (creepy!) so why not food? some of the more interesting dashes I’ve had were delivering a big sub sandwich to a stripper at “savannah’s gentleman’s club.” poor thing looked starving and I was happy to oblige. who wants to tuck dollar bills into a hangry stripper’s hot pink thong? there was the time I got lost in a maze of projects and a gaggle of kiddos led me around and helped me find the right apartment. one man messaged me that the note on his bag made his day and I thought hey, maybe we need an app that combines dating and food delivery! some people leave special instructions on their delivery preferences like, “please don’t ring bell or knock, dogs will go nuts!” I love seeing all the dogs and cats and horses on my routes. the man who ordered bud light and cigarettes with a pitbull, the lady with 5 cats who got very vocal as I delivered their fancy feast. my latest favorite assignment was to the tractor store that reminded me of going with my dad when I was a kid to get hay and feed for our menagerie. I love the smells and the interesting characters. she had ordered multiple bags of 40 pound bird and dog foods and it happened to be 100 degrees that day. I was doubting my ability to carry it all having broken my back in 2014 in a drunk idiot trampoline accident (I’m healed now but do experience pain every day) but have been working on my strength and flexibility and trusting my own awesome body. I did, of course, hope that some cute strong farmer would meet me at the house and help but alas, no farmer to be found. so I remembered my hours of training as a cna (lift with your legs, carry close to your body) and I did it and felt quite proud (and a little bit sweaty). I recently met a dasher who was going to nursing school, who said she’d been doing it for 7 years and also gave me a load of invaluable tips and tricks (forget the acceptance rate!) if she could do it that long than surely I could manage it for another 2.5 years when my social security will kick in and I can take the measly $800-$900 a month and “retire” (work less). and I’m working on a writing career with the help of my brilliant sisters and mom and friends and fabulous kids. my own band of angels. and who knows what magic will happen in that time? remember covid money?? that was unexpected! but in the meantime I will continue to dash for dollars and be grateful that I’m strong and focused enough to do something that yields $10-$30 an hour, depending on the time I put in, the weather and the almighty algorithm. the freedom is worth the hassles. I’m babysitting my granddog, Sosa, this weekend while my daughter goes on a work trip to Florida and just remembered I didn’t schedule more dashes. I checked the app and alas, there are only a few measly hours left so I scheduled a handful but am honestly excited to spend more time with Sweet Sosa in nature. dash on, dash on, dash on till your dreams come…true!

M’Ladies

I love plants and they seem to love me. when I relocated from Santa cruz, California to North Carolina in December of 2024 I packed all my earthly belongings into my little blue Prius and some of those (literal) earthly items were plants. I had to leave some bigger ones back on sandy lane but regifted them happily to my groovy neighbors. although there wasn’t much space, I allotted the entire front floor for my plants. while all plants are special (plant lives matter!) mine were especially so because they were all gifts from elderly ladies who I cared for, most of whom have since departed to that big nursery in the sky. it was a little shocking for them but I made sure to talk and sing to them and every night (6 of them) I’d bring them into the hotel, motel or temple I was staying in (all but one, an “art hotel” in phoenix) were pre-arranged and cost me nothing as my oldest son Gabriel, who happens to be a monk and has a vast spiritual network, set it all up. I’m happy to report that while they were a little worse for the wear after 2,700 miles of driving, they are now, after nearly 8 months, happy, juicy and smiling (you may not see it but I do). because they carry the names of m’ladies. there is liz, the wild sprawling succulent that looks like a mini octopus, named after the 72 year old beauty who had a heart replacement when she was 50, a 16 year old’s heart which magically worked and made her look much younger than her years. it came with a price though and she had to take loads of meds to keep it ticking. she had memory problems and trouble walking but always remembered who I was. I took her to the beach with her walker in her custom made black leather pants she got in Paris then back at home I’d make her perfect drippy grilled cheese sandwiches. she had been a photographer in her younger years and worked for vanity fair. she loved horses and cute men and made friends wherever she went. I cherish my time with her and miss her everyday but liz jr. is thriving and I’m sure her mom would be proud. next is Nancy, for the 98 year old wonder who lived in a nice trailer park overlooking the ocean. one of her daughters lived in her own trailer next door to her on the right and her other one on the left like a Nancy sandwich. every night they would alternate turns taking her out to dinner or cooking for her. she liked me a lot even though she slept through most of my 4 hour shift while I did crossword puzzles with her big fat orange cat Ollie cuddled on my lap. she’d tell me about the latest book she was reading (“my daughter gave me this one and it’s really not very good but I don’t want to tell her that”) or about the time she and her late husband would travel the u.s. in their rv. Nancy had good taste and the cutest clothes. every time I’d come she’d have a gift for me, a belt, a teacup (the agency said we couldn’t accept gifts but she’d shush me and say, honey, I’m 98, what am I gonna do with all this stuff). I began bringing her flowers or homemade cookies and we’d try to out-gift each other. I don’t know if she’s still around but her little green and pink cactus in the beautiful cloisonné pot is and she’s happy next to liz jr. third is barb who was married to Joe. she had a bad case of dementia, the worst I’ve ever seen. she’d tell me stories about things that happened in her past, a fire, a flood, a graduation, the childcare center she ran from her home. after a few months I knew the stories by heart and would carefully predict and ending. she’d look at me wide eyed and gasp, honey! you must be psychic! and psychic I was though I tried not to take advantage. I just thought it a fair trade off for patiently listening to the same story day after day day after day. her husband Joe, 97, was one of the kindest men I’ve ever met. he stayed with her when she called for him and told him she felt “fuzzy” and “weird” and it was scary. he held her wrinkly hand tight and stroked her frizzy hair. “I know sweetheart, I know, I’m here.” her plant is small dark green succulent with white polka dots with a repeating leaf pattern…much like her stories. last is Diane and she’s a doozy. a Christmas cactus that still blooms even after its arduous journey. speaking of arduous journeys I am feeling very tired as I think of my journey with Diane. it was very very hard and I learned a lot. there was pain and suffering, dog fights and gossip, alcohol, drugs and blackmail. I’m realizing the treasure trove of story in my 2 years with Diane and I’ll leave you wanting more…she deserves it. with a heavy but grounded heart I send out so much love to m’ladies. may you all fly free after being finally released from these difficult earthly bodies and minds. peace and love, Whitney susannah xoxo