Venture to Spokangeles

Venture To Spokangeles

Volume 2

It wasn’t until about three p.m. on Wednesday afternoon before I decided to begin packing all the goods into my luggage. Scurrying through my neat and tidy room tossing drawers on the ground attempting to find just a few clean shirts to toss into the empty bags was a scavenger hunt in and of itself. Gonzaga shirt with bleach stain; okay. Gonzaga shirt with Chili stain; sure. Gonzaga shirt with coffee stain; no can do. As I finally get my bags totally packed and grab a box of wheat thins for the road I am officially ready for a sweet seven hour road trip to good ol’ Spokane (Spokangelous- This is a name used to describe how similar Spokane and Los Angeles are in the realm of gangster’s, whatever that means). As we head out the roads are a bit wet but traffic seems significantly non-existent for a day like this; the day before Thanksgiving (insert Turkey here…lol). We chomped down some Wheat Thins and chugged a few Diet Dr. Pepper’s while discussing the up’s and down’s of Eugene Bible College and the difficulties of believing the majority of what’s taught to us. This doesn’t go to say that we are skeptical of the Bible; we were just speaking openly regarding our hindrances in conforming to the typicality of the Pentecostal interpretation of the Bible. The issues of tongues and angels and prophecy bring confusion rather than clarity to many freshmen at EBC who are extremely unknowledgeable concerning the Acts of the Apostles and Jesus’ practices while on earth. They have heard all the stories and seen all the B- films on the disciples but have failed to make it personal (take ownership of…) the gifts of the Spirit in which the Father had in store for His people in the days of old and for today. The conversation never turned into debate; thank you Jesus. It was seemingly innocent pondering by a few young men who love God but don’t fully understand what it is He has for us.

As our road trip progressed the traffic ease became evident. Through the light rain and fog we could see a plethora of pairs of red lights at a stand-still about a quarter-mile ahead. We then spent about two-hours stuck in a bumper to bumper traffic jam and decided after reaching Albany that dinner sounded good to. Out of the overabundance of quality restaurants we chose Denny’s: it doesn’t get any more American then that. The place was insanely packed and it was palpable by the multiplicity of frustrated faces that we weren’t the only set of commuters that were stuck in that monotonous pile of vehicles for the better half of our afternoon. We all had our meals and chatted a bit about how excited we were to get home; we were on our way promptly. Andrew decided to get some directions from the bartender next door because according to our waitress she was like a human, “Map Quest.” I found this partially comical because their were a few drunks trying to help in the ordeal and Andrew listened to them. Believe it or not I was actually uncertain about trusting the directions from a mill worker with a scrappy mustache and mullet whom had just pounded down eight Budweiser’s and three whiskey sours, but Andrew trusted “her” so we went for it (insert laugh). But, in the end the drunks were right as usual (maybe not as usual, but they were right). We found our way from highway ninety-nine (the ol’ shortcut) to Portland and were off and going at full speed from their on out.

The arrival in Spokane was euphoric. I got into my friend Pat’s house at around one-thirty a.m. and was glad to just throw on my iPod and crash out on the couch. I didn’t wake up until half past seven, late bloomer. I had to prepare myself for my 11^th annual Garry Park Turkey Bowl.

Quote taken from the Spokesman Review:

"Out on the wind-swept fields of Chief Garry Park, a motley neighborhood squal sketched out a rahter convulted and perhaps complicated play on the palms of their quickly numbing hands...across the line the opposing team-dressed in black jerseys and festooned with yellow plastic flags- grew restless and boisterous as the huddle dragged on and the scriptre play underwent several revisions...Now in its 19th year the Chief Garry Turkey Bowl, a very loosely orgainized battle for neighborhood bragging rights, pleased both the winnners and the losers-in large part because of the dearth of injuries...The beauty of the teams, alternately outfitted in sweats, camouflage shorts and Wrangler jeans, lies in thier free0wheeling approach...Despite the oath of good sportsmanship, the teams weren't averse to a little trash-talking..."

So yeah...that's what the paper said about the annual event.

I was just pumped to be able to see all my old neighborhood pals and get a chance to barrel a few sweet Touchdown passes down their throats. Afterwards I went down to the street to my aunt’s house where Thanksgiving Day Dinner soon followed.

Thanksgiving has always been one of my favorite holidays and I still don’t fully comprehend why that is. It is a day where we get together with people and eat until we’re sick; I just don’t really know if we need a specialized day-off for this sort of event. Isn’t that in a nut shell the, “history of America?” Overeating. I am constantly eager to bite into the flush green jello (Aunt Benita’s Specialty) and caramelized shotgunned stuffing (Uncle Denny’s Specialty). After two and a half heaping plates everyone was asking me about my thoughts about dessert; I responded with a belch, grunt, and stomach rub and answered respectively, “duh?” As I plowed through a small splice (huge chunk) of Pumpkin Pie I was thinking to myself; God, you are so friggin’ cool. I realized that regardless how many relatives I have left alive; I will always remember times like these. My Uncle Ray now seventy-three sitting in his normal seat at the head of the table and my uncle Denny sitting directly across from me, waiting on a chance to sneak a chunk of butter into my milk like he did last year. My aunt Benita, now sixty eight, constantly moving around trying to make sure everyone has what they need. And last but not least my cousins; head’s down and mouths open, shoveling food in their mouths like it’s a competition. That’s just a glimpse of my magnificent Thanksgiving. It sounds incredibly awkward and un-cool to most people; but to me it’s like, “Heck yeah, that’s the family!”

The day after thanksgiving was primarily spent whining about my cramped up legs from the game and my inconceivably insane stomach aches. I went over to my Uncle Ray’s house and we just sat and talked for three or four hours while Fox News blasted in the back ground. I am almost positive in that one sitting alone he put down two Budweiser’s and a pack of Pall Mall’s. Unk (nickname) has always been the one consistent person in my life, as far back as I can remember. He spent forty-five years of his life driving cross country as a furniture mover for Allied Van Lines; a truck driver. Regardless of the typical stereotypes that truckers get, my Unk is a diamond in the rough. He has been through every state at least four or five times and is honestly able to list off immediately any main highway or freeway leaving any major city in the U.S. I quiz him sometimes just to see if the old geezer losing his touch; he never fails me. When my father died my Unk went through a tremendously difficult time. Unk was the oldest of the four boys in his family: Butch (the youngest) was blown up by a landmine in Vietnam in 67’. Jon (my dad) died after a series of vicious strokes in 2001. Jim (the 2^nd oldest) died of a stroke in 84’. It was ridiculously tough that he was the oldest and had watched all of his brothers and two of his sisters die. Yet, through that depressing time he never gave up on me and kept on encouraging me and challenging me to make more of my life. So, I helped him hang up some Christmas lights and that was about it for the day.

I spent all day Saturday just helping clean up my uncle’s place and then went to a movie with my best friend Patrick Malone. He and I have been friends since high school. Come to think of it I don’t know where we met; somewhere at school. Anytime I talk about an old story of mischief it most likely concerns him. During my rougher days he and I would cause some serious ruckus with anyone we could find; punks. But yeah, it was a crappy flick but a good night in general.

On Sunday I had breakfast with my mentor and his wife and son and Unk and Shari’s. My mentor and I have an incredible relationship and its cool when Unk can just come along and see that God is putting people in my life that care about me. I also drug Unk to church with me and by the time we came outside it was snowing like crazy so he decided to give his motorized wheelchair a test drive on the fresh powder; the rest is history. Pat picked me up around four o’clock and we went to Red Robin and had some Gourmet Cheeseburgers and fries; boy o’ boy those were some sweet burgers. Brian picked me up around six and we took off for Eugene and made the best time we’ve ever made. Spokane to Eugene in six hours and twenty-some odd’ minutes, that’s miraculous. Thank you Jesus for an awesome time with my family and friends and a safe trip there and back.

Until I travel again….

Tshuss!