‘Steven Brown’

Art by Tami Thirlwell
Flowers Courtesy Tami Thirlwell

It’s taken a while to break me down but I have to confess I’m not the person you think I am.  You know, I’ve never actually known who ‘Steven Brown’ is?  I’m serious.  Okay, not that serious.  But have you ever wondered who you are?  Of course not.  Okay, this post is over.

If you’re born with a name, and grow up with it, and it’s you, that’s different from being one person then becoming someone else, especially if you were already a bit confused as to who you might be.  I know.  Again.  So what?

My one question is does it move the dial?  Will it start the car?  I know.  That’s two questions.

I was stunned myself when I actually, finally, put everything aside and started to look into ‘Steven Brown’.  There’s a lot of this guy out there.  I knew that but was afraid to look because I’m, you know, unique.  I was dumbfounded, appalled, bewildered.  I nearly rolled over and went back to sleep.

The guy is everywhere.  Sometimes it’s ‘Steve’, sometimes, ‘Stephen’, occasionally ‘Stephan’ or ‘Stefan’, and always ‘Brown’.  Brown.  What’s that mean, anyway?  What’s ‘Steven Brown’ mean?  It’s worrisome.  It’s on every land mass, this thing, this ‘Steven Brown’.  And it seems to hold down a vast array of occupations.  Doctor.  Lawyer.  Musician.  Academic.  Top commenter.  That’s not an occupation.  Shut up.  Try it.

It’s just strange.  It’s unavoidable.  It’s banal.  And it’s not my fault.  ‘Steven’ is my christian name.  Are they still called that?  ‘Brown’ is my adoptive name.  I didn’t adopt it.  Somebody adopted it for me.  So it’s always in the back of your mind, right?  Are you sure?  Are you sure that’s you?  Who are you, actually?  And what happens when you find out?  Not that you ever will.

It’s like having the last name ‘Smith’.  I always thought, because I was told, it’s the commonest name, but I only ever knew one Smith and that was years and years ago.  You never meet a Smith.  Forget it.  If the name’s so common where are they all?  If you know a Smith let me know because I’m here to tell you Smith is not a common name.  Brown is a common name, much more common.  Unless it’s Wong.  It’s funny because Stephen Wong was a good guy, but where is he?  And as for ‘Steven Brown’ it’s off the dial.  The dial’s broken.

It’s just a solemn fact there’s a lot of us out there.  There’s not much I can do.  I could change my name.  But why bother?  It didn’t work the first time either (see above).

But even people with unusual names, they’re not alone.  You can have a strange name like Punxsutawney or Thirlwell and feel you’re in the clear but when you look into it discover you’re well back, you’re not first and not even tenth or maybe twentieth.  It’s frustrating.

I just remembered something.  I knew another Smith and it wasn’t that long ago.  Andrea.  Nice kid.  Worked with her, sort of.  I think she changed her name.

Olympic Mtn AlpenglowThat’s it.

The Jesus Store

Saint Mary of Egypt

How come I didn’t know about this? Scant blocks from here is a very well-endowed Christianity emporium that has obviously been around for years and I didn’t have a clue. I thought I’d have to send away for my statue of St. Mary of Egypt but here it is right here and in more than one size.  Or if I wanted an icon of St. Mary of Egypt to hang on my wall here it is, or a pendant to go around my thickening neck.  Pendants of every Saint you ever heard of and dozens and dozens of Saints you never heard of.  Right here.  In a tall spinner rack and all along half a wall and this is only the beginning.

Vestments?  You want vestments?  Get ’em here.  Racks and racks of vestments.  Books.  Paintings.  Censers.  Votive lights.  Images of the big guy, long, flowing locks, handsome tanned white face alive with niceness, with beatitude.  You know what?  Jesus Christ may not have looked like a bad actor movie star.  Has anyone considered?  Don’t matter.  As for crucifixes?  One stop shopping.

We saw a votive light we liked but it had no price tag on it.  We took it to the counter.  A small silent women wearing a blue smock took the thing and went back to a corralled-off office area and sat at a desk and computer screen for about ten minutes trying to track the thing down.  Finally she returns.  “Six dollars.”  We think it too much and choose one a little smaller for $2.50.  It’s a nice dark blue glass votive burner.  They may be called tea-light burners or holders elsewhere, but around here they’re called votives.  Remember that.

We’re out of tea-lights.  In fact it’s the reason we’re here.  We usually buy them at Ikea in Richmond but since the strike out there haven’t been going and we’re out.  We’re kinda romantic and like the mood set by a few tea-lights burning of an evening.  They sell them here.  Unlike the ones sold at Ikea these come from the U.S.A. and are about four times as expensive as the Ikea-ers.  Everything in here is pricey.  Is that because churches have lots of money?  Could be a connection.  We’re not here to criticize but to observe and hopefully to learn.

The music is weird.  Not loud, but weird.  It’s coming from a CD player near the point-of-sale.  Sounds like choral hymns but then the choir breaks into a stirring rendition of the Star Spangled Banner.  Seems a tad incongruent.

Saint Mary of Egypt.  I met her before.  Patron saint of penitents.  That’s you and me.  We mess up and we’re sorry and promise to do better next time.  She banished herself to the desert and lived a life of extreme asceticism in atonement for what she considered her misspent youth.  This was back when the years only had three numbers to them.  She survived exclusively on what she could find out there in the sand, which wasn’t much.  I don’t know.  Somehow I identified with that.  But our take away today is a votive and box of 100 tea-lights.  $30.

 

Small Dog From Texas

I knew it might happen.  But I didn’t know it would happen.  Actually, no.  It came as a complete surprise.  Wait, it was a pleasant surprise, but somehow not a complete one.  It was a semi-surprise.  Pleasant semi-surprises aren’t getting enough ink these days so to get one is good.  It’s nice.

We’ve been getting a lot of mail at https://samoyeddogs.wordpress.com about the origin of that title.  It’s Russian.  I organized it when I was in Moscow on the last leg of my Eastern European tour.  It was a food stand right in Red Square, that lovely place.  All that brick and Russians.  Samoyed Dogs.  Some kind of Russian hot dog.  Tasty.

The pronunciation is akin to Samizdat (sam-ee-is-dat).  Something like that.  Samoy-yeh-dogs.  Very Russian.  Very untrue.  You kids remember Samizdat.  Here’s a link http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Samizdat

The site and the concept have in common that if you can’t get published in official channels unless you want to get shot or receive a free trip to the gulag you start exploring other options.  You pass it around clandestinely.  Love that word.  Of course this here ain’t exactly clandestine and runs none of the pretty severe risks people took in the samizdat era, which, under that little twerp Vladimir Putin, probably still exists.  Did I just say something?

Some big, kind and generous friends of the site have taken to calling it “The dogs”, as in, “Really enjoy the dogs.  Keep them coming.”

“It’s not about the dogs,” I keep saying.  No one listens.  It’s sad.  And then I contradict myself and write about a small dog from Texas.  As my old accounting prof said, “It can get confusing.”  Bless him, he was right.

The Ring Please
The Ring Please

Georgia by name, a rescue hound.  Used to roam among the cacti not too long ago then caught a bomber from the Lone Star State.  How’d she do that?  Still in training mode.  Forced these people to come to a mysterious island, a place they’d never been before, and do it.  Managed to stay out of all the pictures, all that incriminating evidence, as it used to be called and maybe still is.  Doesn’t matter.  Strange things happen on mysterious islands.  Guys’ll get all sentimental and start handing over engagement rings.  The dog just looks up.  I don’t know about climbing up because I wasn’t there.  Bet she did though.

I should probably take another crack at explaining where that samoyeddogs title came from.