blood and fire... and avacados! -kate

Today is the 4th day in Glasgow, which is great because its no longer the 3rd day.  

Don't get me wrong, the whole Scotland thing is cool, we're happy to be here... we're getting along well... we're well fed- if nothing else, we're definitely well fed.  Yesterday was our first day at the mission, and everytime we met someone new- or a different character walked into the room- the first thing they asked us was:

"Have you eaten?  Do you want something to eat?"

I guess I understand the sentiment. When I was a little girl I kept aquariums, and since fish aren't overly communicative, I would feed them often- just to reassure myself that they were feeling okay... okay enough to eat at least.  So I surmise the constant offers of tea, sandwiches, biscuits, soup, chocolate bars... was more a status check than anything.  Of course I could be wrong.  Since it is a mission, they receive a lot of food donations that are just on the edge of expiration.  Could be they were just trying to get rid of it all. 

So day 3 began with the 3 of us having to pack up our belongings and leave our hostel accomodations.  We were being moved to our permanent residence in Glasgow: the Salvation Army Church offices. The mission very kindly put us up in the hostel for 2 nights in order to make the jet-lag and transition a little more palateable.  Problem is, any attempts made by Ben to try to hammer down the living situation at the SAC was met with ambiguous equivocations- there might be beds, there might be bedding, there might be a shower, there might be electricity... and when we were picked up from the hostel, none of these questions were answered.  We didn't go to the SAC, we were taken to the mission where we were met with our special chore for the day.

First we locked all of our luggage into a storage closet and helped with a lunch meal that was served to the older men who frequent the shelter.  We met a wide array of characters who volunteer at the shelter,  but none of the actual people who come there.  Instead, we herded into a back room in the shelter that needed to be repainted.  Thing is, Ewan, the director of the mission, hadn't actually mixed the paint yet- turns out he had about 5 different colors of paint- none of which were the correct color, and he decided prior to our arrival that what he should do was mix all the insufficient colors into a huge bin- and the combination of so many negatives would form a positive, i.e. whatever color they all made together was the color we were painting the walls.

What we ended up with was something that I suppose could be considered a soon-to-be-rotten-avacado shade.  

And as we cinched up our belts to get to the painting, we discovered that the closet which contained our luggage( and consequently, our paint clothes) had not only locked, but no one knew which key would open it.  So the next step in this hap-hazard little parade wa sfor us to get paint clothes out of the mission's used clothing donations.  I ended up in a jumpsuit.   Janny and I started painting while Ben left with Ewan to figure out housing.  5 or 6 hours later ( Ben had returned and helped us for about 4 hours) The job was almost done.  Roughly every 20 minutes, however, someone from the mission would wander in and make some comment about the truly horrific color:

"Oi, thass the oogliest thang oi've evharrr sien!"

translation:  Wow, that's the ugliest thing I've ever seen!"

Arguably, they could have been talking about me in the jumpsuit- but they were looking at the walls when they said it.  

Perhaps the comments got to Ewan.  For the first few hours he would come in and proclaim that the color was perfect and we were doing a magnificent job.  But later he walked in with a brand new can of white paint, and proclaimed that what the color REALLY needed was to be lighter.  So he dumped the white paint into the bin of avacado, mixed it up- and we started over... with a color that now could feasibly be called olive. 

This was the point where I think we hit the wall, literally.  I sat down on the floor and started repeating over and over in a rain-man fashion "I can't believe we're painting it all over again- I can't believe we're starting over."  And fortunately, Ben who is getting in touch with his problem solving skills having to deal with both me and Janny, suggested I start on the other half of the room, which was going to be painted a flat white.  He speculated, not incorrectly, that the color was starting to affect me in a truly detrimental manner, and a change of scenery might help.  I, with much relief and weariness, set to work on the mercifully white wall and we all lumbered along in silence for another couple of hours.  Whereupon Ewan appeared again and suggested we join the volunteers for prayer and worship before the shelter patrons arrived for the evening meal.  And though none of us was feeling particularly worshipful, we set our brushes down and ambled obediently after Ewan.  Here I should note that Sucm of the Earth attendees have what can only be described as an aversion to your typical contemporary Christian worship music... more accurately, we despise the stuff.  And as the sheets of words were passed out, Janny and I clung to each other for comfort, fearing that we would have to participate in a lilting Scottish rendition of "Our God is an Awesome God".  I leaned over to her and said, "Do you think they'd be pissed if we requested "Living on a Prayer" by Bon Jovi?"

The worship was a blessedly brief 2 songs and we were released to continue with our painting-  which we did for about another 3 hours, at which point Ewan reappeared and stated that he had a group of Y-WAMmers (Youth With A Mission- a BIG missionary organization for young people- I think it's international now) who were going to take over the white walls for us for a bit.  The kiddos attacked that side of the room with enthusiasm only 15-year-old pentecostals can muster.  And the 3 of us could only manage mild civility towards them... as the girls kept talking about this epic Averil Levigne concert they went to and one of them insisted on singing everything in the style of piano-crawling lounge music.  In short, we wanted to eat them for dinner.  Especially when we saw their work was not only covering the walls with white paint, but also the floor, the cabinets, and any other surface they came close to.  

It was close to midnight when Ewan finally decided to shut down for the night-  Janny and I had been painting since approx 11am. 

At first there was something of a mess as Ewan had to find the right key that would gain us access to the cabinet and consequently, our clothing.  Then we all piled into a cab, exhausted, jet-lagged, and covered in green and white paint, at which point we were delivered to the Salvation Army auditorium.  We walked inside, and instantly understood why the description of our home had been so... shady.  Put simply, there was no describing it.  Upon our first steps inside, we were assaulted by a sickly sweet and strangely familiar odor, it took me a minute to place it, but when I did, it was undeniable- the place smelled like urinal cakes. We walked down a short, dark hallway and found ourselves in a massive, musty auditorium, the kind that your grandparents take ball-room dancing lessons in.  We trucked up two flights of stairs with all of our luggage in tow- along with a wad of sleeping bags that were going to serve as our temporary bedding until sheets and blankets could be bought the next day.  The journey down the long, crumbling hallways was aided by the scattered flickering light here and there as we flipped switches.  And we finally arrived in the room that would be delegated our bed-room.  There were two, small twin mattresses laying on the floor, next to two drawers which had been placed on the floor- no, not a chest of drawers, or a nightstand- two empty drawers.  There were a couple of tattered couch cushions next to each naked mattress, and a single bulb lamp sitting on the floor, which offered the only illumination to be had in the room, since the overhead light was incommunicado.  However, when we looked up at it to see if it was even glowing just a little bit... we noticed that the ceiling had a bright yellow sticker on it-  much like biohazard tape I've used in the course of my employment-  the sticker read in large, black letters "WARNING: ASBESTOS!"  We trolled the other rooms to see if any better options presented themselves, what we discovered was no shower, no running water upstairs, and an array of rooms, packed with abandoned objects- a couple of disintegrating speakers here, a tangle of sticky children's toys there, furniture missing legs and arm rests, a file cabinet- and as I walked, I realized that the erie familiarity I was sensing... it wasnt my imagination... this building, and the long, dark hallways, the random assortment of decrepit objects... resembled every first-person zombie video game I had ever seen.  We ended the tour of our new home in a grimy cafeteria style kitchen.  A small brigade of ants ran for cover off the countertop when we flicked the lights on- and the conversation that took place at that point cannot be repeated.  Suffice to say that at first, my initial impulse was to check my account balance at home- and book all of us a suite at the Marriot with a full mini-bar... rather than sleep in this post-apocalyptic crypt.  However, even as I said it, I knew that abandoning ship was not an option.  And thankfully, Janny, in a valiant effort to raise our spirits, suggested we wrestle a couple of toddler-size bikes out of their upstairs resting place and ride around the auditorium for a bit to lighten our mood.  We seized upon this idea and scampered to make it happen... and so that's how Janny and I came to be riding around the auditorium, Barnum and Bailey style, on tiny bicycles while Ben chased after us with the camera- to add to the ridicularity of the moment- I found an impossibly thick pair of old-lady glasses on the old upright piano, and our next source of amusement was to take turns wearing them while attempting to stay upright on a bicycle.  After hitting the floor a few times, we noted that hanging against the back wall of the stage, was the Salvation Army crest and motto "Blood and Fire" which we though sounded like a tour name for a rock band.

We've grown as accustomed to our lodgings as we can since that first night- which was difficult... I recall asking Ben where Ewan procured the sleeping bags we were going to be sleeping in, (this seemed like a legitimate question, since Ewan runs a homeless shelter and sleeping bags come and go frequently)  Ben simply giggled and stated in a maniacle voice that he had no idea as to the origin or history of our sleeping bags.  Later on that night, after all three of us had sedated ourselves into sleepiness with Benedryl, I awoke to a strange lumpy feeling at my feet.  I reached down and realized that in the bottom of my sleeping bag, was a couple of wadded up socks- neither of which were mine.  Fortunately I had combined my Benedryl with a dose of Trazadone that I procured from a friend a couple of weeks ago.  So I didn't have the presence of mind to be truly disgusted... or even bothered.  

The next day, Ben went an got us some blankets, sheets and pillows- he was careful to keep all the wrapping so we could verify the pedigree of our bedding.  And since then, we have had a couple of non-sequiters regarding our home-  For example, last night we arrived home to find a whole slew of Africans posted up outside our domicile.  They told us that once a month, they have a vigil in the hall from 10pm to 3 am.  We told them we couldn't, in good conscience, let them in since we hadn't been told anything about a vigil.  Furthermore, we were there on someone else's charity and didn't want to risk our home by taking their word for it.  They seemed to understand, and we didn't think anything more of it- until about an hour later, when they apparently managed to get a hold of the powers that be- who in turn, let them in.  Because just as the 3 of us were preparing to go to sleep, the microphone cranked on, and we were subjected to a high-volume, high-energy, pentecostal worship service that ripped through the thin walls of the SAC and rattled us to our bones.  Seriously, it sounded like they were performing a live action rendition of The Lion King.  Out came the Benedryl again, and as I fell into a medication induced stupor, with the tune of "Old Rugged Cross" enthusiastically sung in Swahili,  I comforted myself with the thought that at least the zombies would likely find them first.