You don't have to read this

In an effort to feel productive and keep my mind off my big decision, I'm going to start posting some fiction I've written (both in class and phor phun.) It won't usually be finished, because I never like my endings.

This one is something from class when we had to emulate one of our favorite writers' style. I chose Garrison Keillor because, though he may not be a literary great, I like stories that are written to sound like they are spoken and I really like Prairie Home Companion and his books. (Caroline- I have started reading Liberty. It's great. Don't tell Lileks.) I don't think I really succeeded in my impression of GK because I mostly just took Swedish names and made church important. WHATEVER. This story was called "The Visiting of the Elderly of Embarrass, Minnesota" and that's a real town name. They have a website. I took the Pastor's last name directly from PHC.

It was pastor Jim Lundquist who decided to visit the shut-ins every November. The idea was to make them feel like they were still a part of the community, though their limbs had long since ceased to function and some of their minds had grown dim or dark and they hadn't been to church in years. The practical nature of the visits, however, was to give them what could potentially be their last communion. The idea didn't so much come to the Pastor as it was shoved upon him by his congregation after the unfortunate passing of Anker Johannsen. Mr. Johannsen, a once beloved member of the North Heights Lutheran Church, was found six days after his death in his farmhouse on I-93. He was seated in his recliner with the television turned to Punch! TV. A combination of rigor mortis and the Minnesota cold had preserved a glassy eyed look of pleasant satisfaction on the old man's face.

The congregation was outraged. Not about the fact that it took nearly a week to find the former deacon, but that he could look so pleased watching the same cable network that corrupted their children on a nightly basis, bringing them programming like "Bikini-Bear-Gun-Power" and "Harley Harlot Hotel Island." It was decided, then, that the Pastor should visit the elderly every November to make sure they were in good favor with the Lord. By taking the Holy Communion, they might avoid the lapse in good Christian judgement that so clearly befell Mr. Johannsen.

Pastor Lundquist had two couples on the agenda, the Hanskis and the Nielsens. His wife, Anna, had taken the good car to visit their daughter in Saint Cloud, so he was left to drive out to the farmhouses in the truck. Anna took the old Ford when her father died. She grew up on a turkey farm in the southwestern part of the state and, though she preferred not to drive the rickety standard, she had fond memories of it. Jim discovered just how much she liked that truck only after he asked about selling it. She told him how her father would take her out to the edge of their farm every December and chop down a small fir that she had picked out for their Christmas tree while Anna waited in the cab of the truck, drawing pictures of dogs and flowers on the frosty windows. Jim thought she was being a bit too sentimental, but he couldn't say anything. He thought, as a Pastor, he should be sentimental, and those kinds of stories should tug at his heartstrings and make him say something about the beauty of the Lord as reflected in childhood or family or something, but they never did.

The truck worked just fine for getting him to the church. He flicked on the lights of the industrial kitchen. It was huge, but bare. A long steel-topped counter ran down the center of the room, two sinks on one end, two refrigerators on the other. On the right wall counter was the communion bread. Bill Hanski's hobby was woodcraft and as a gift to the congregation he made a Eucharist specific bread box. Stained a burnt umber, the wood-burned cursive read "The Body of Christ" with a cross on the left and a picture of a loaf of bread on the right. He opened the box to find a loaf of Wonder Bread with a yellow sticky note attached to it. The note read, "Dear Pastor, We got rid of that strange bread that was in here. Here is the normal stuff!- Women's Circle." Jim had tried using pita bread during the communion, promising everyone that it was much more accurate than the spongy white stuff they were used to. The congregation did not appreciate this, least of all the Women's Circle. He cut up a slice into four pieces and put some wine in a plastic juice container.

I think that's all for now. Sorry for being boring! I just started this blog so I would have some place keep stories that happened to me, as well as made up stuff. I haven't done anything made up yet.