Invitation to Guelph Cares (full press release)

Guelph Cares!

is a benefit to support disaster victims in Asia presented by Harcourt Memorial United Church, Guelph, in conjunction with the Red Cross on Sunday, 9 January. All proceeds from the free-will offering will go to the Red Cross Disaster Relief efforts. This is an event for all ages and all families of the city.
Harcourt Memorial United Church is at 87 Dean Ave. Dean Ave. runs between Gordon St. and Edinburgh Rd., two blocks north of College Ave.

Refreshments will be available as well as a display of the work of the Red Cross. Volunteer Red Cross workers will receive donations for the Red Cross which are income tax deductible for the 2004 taxation year.

Come to the whole event or to those parts you and your family are most interested in. Further details can be obtained by contacting Harcourt Memorial United Church. (Tel. 824-4177)

Events include:

3:00 pm Stories with Robert Munsch

4:00 pm James Gordon presenting a program for children and parents
and Story teller Ann Estill

6:00 pm Rene Meshake - native spoken word and legend presentation

7:00 pm Choral Concert featuring: The Guelph Chamber Choir, The Waterloo-Wellington Rainbow Chorus, The Dublin St. United Church Choir, The Harcourt Memorial United Church Choir

8:30 pm Jiwani - African Dance and Drumming featuring storyteller Adwoa Badoe

Vampires

Eramosa River, 3 pm.

Additional photos posted in texture (1, 2), and doorwindowwall (1).

~~~~~~~~~~

The world is black and white today, and yet it is neither bright nor dark. It lies somewhere in between, a crepuscular zone where snow crinkles around the edges of leaves and ice creeps upon the still Eramosa waters. Cars for sale in the lot next door look like cadavers, their features muted by body bags. Perhaps they are only half dead, vampires ready to emerge from their coffins when someone pays the right price. A tribe of hollow bodies skims up and down York Road, whispering in the same sibilant language, stories of coming and going I will never comprehend. I sit writing at my desk, or stand at the kitchen window; my thoughts following the incessant hiss of deadly tires. Running and running. Nothing can stop us.

I talked on the phone today with an old friend. Old in my terms means anything longer than three years. I've known Daniel since 1996, which is practically a lifetime. We have drifted apart since I started seeing Danny. We've exchanged voice messages a few times, but haven't actually conversed for at least six months. It annoys me that he still shows no particular interest in my relationship. It was such a difference from the Guelph crowd: last night at choir practice several people asked about my boyfriend. Ray said Danny looked positively scrumptious at the December choir concert with his new haircut. It took me by surprise, filled me with a glow. I love singing next to Ray; he is a little man with a rich, dark bass voice.

Daniel is part of my life. The only man I ever dated who I still consider a friend. I need to let go of wishing things were different, get over my unforgiving. If he doesn't understand my life, maybe he will learn from it. I have learned much from him. It's not like he rejects me, the way some people have done.

Today I received a Christmas letter from Linda P, a woman from my old church. This was the third year in a row. There is nothing inviting in these letters, no peace offering, only a declaration of Christ's love presiding over her family, how He provided for them, which of her various children prayed the sinner's prayer this year. I know what she believes: that I will eventually tire of running from the Lord, and return penitently to the unconditional love so evident in her life. Her only living purpose is to preach the Gospel.

This is a woman who wouldn't speak and turned her eyes away the last time I said hello to her at the grocery store. A friend of 12 years who cut me off when my marriage failed, without once asking my side of the story. Later she must have thought better of her actions. Maybe it was guilt (you must love even the sinners!) that led her to track down my new address, I don't know how. It felt invasive to me. I kept that first letter for a few months, then threw it out.

Last year her tone hadn't changed, so I tore the letter up at once.

This afternoon when I found the envelope in my mail I didn't even open it, but scratched out my address and wrote "return to sender," then deposited it in the mailbox across the street. I had been looking forward to that all year.





( +1 , the peaceful Eramosa )