what will happen...

...when someone makes an anonymous donation and they buy a brand new cross? The church I went to was always doing that...new altar crosses and communion plates, new robes for the choir.

There was a four story high stained glass window covered by a thin beige curtain. It was donated by a rich man who lost his wife when she was old but not ancient (to cancer). His name was J. R. Mudshadow. There was a plaque on the wall with tiny gold screws. I always wanted to steal those screws.

The window shone at the front of the balcony-laced chapel, right behind the baptismal so when I got baptised and my eyes blinked out of the water, the first things I saw were shards of colored glass. It was a vibrant window depicting the cross in purple, blue, gold, silver...must have been six inches thick. When the sun came through it the muted beauty of that glass, that light, that thin beige curtain...every week we got a new gleeful flower arrangement that sat directly in front of the baptismal and the four story high stained glass window. These arrangements could be best expressed in square footage and were donated by members of the congregation who had lost a loved one to dying. They often complained that you could not see the flowers with that damn window up there and with all that church light coming through in every which direction.

The curtain was never pulled back so as not to overshadow the flowers. J.R. Mudshadow's gift cast a big one.

The flowers were announced at the beginning of each service. It went like this: "The flowers today are given in loving memory of Janice Swinton." or "...by the family of Earl Youtly." Old people names. The flowers must be noticed. The window must be aknowledged. The curtain must be fitted to the full size of the window, allowing a modest level of light through and of course the basic design and shape of the cross must be visible, as J.R. would have wanted it. This is what one man who served as a church board member must have said at the weekly church board meeting, or perhaps even a special meeting called to specifically discuss the window and its dear giver.

I never met Mr. Mudshadow. I think he died right before I was born but there's a good chance that window will never be bombed out like one of those beautiful European churches with it's wall bark rising in ruin from the wet black ground. I do not think that will ever happen to this church because it is built on a pillow. The corner the iced building sits on is part of a very affluent, very white section of town where nothing, nithing, nathing save a pumpkin sale or a shoe sale or the sale of a rare book/keepsake/picture ever happens.

What about this corner here in this picture? What about when somebody donates something bigger, better or golden with working lightbulbs? Cause this cross is burnt out. How much better would it look crushing a coffee ground-drowned Arby's cup? How ar-tis-tic would it be if there was a small slice of tomato or a chunk of dried lipstick or the ultimate in simple, simple irony: a condom bruising "Salvo" on the nose? Busted radiator heavy in the mud next to it like a brother. Anonymous paper and everything underfoot...a boot. A piece of fascinating trash.