MennoTable Update: Escape from Mennocountry—DEBUNKED!

On my last trip to the Relief Sale (2010! What the heck!) I was disheartened by the food. To say the least. The sausage sandwich stand was gone. Everything tasted over-fried and under-loved.

I shared my concerns with my dad, who sagely replied, “That’s what moving away is. Shit doesn’t taste the same when you go home.”

When I had the chance to move a year ago, I tried my best to pick a place that would make going back to the Midwest difficult, because I’ve spent my entire life in various locations within the same general area. The west coast was the natural option. So here I am now! A western Menno. A Menno in Idaho. But did I truly escape the reach of Mennos?

Is the pope catholic?

Do bears shit in the forest?

Well, yes to both of those things, but no to my original question.

No, I have learned that there is no escape. In fact, I discovered by talking to a mechanic (let that sink in) that there is another person in the area sharing my *unique* surname. I made the mistake of mentioning this to Dad last time we talked.

There was a long silence broken by the sound of shattering glass.

“What’s his first name?” Dad asked. “I got this genealogy book…I can look ‘im up!”

It was Father’s Day. A phone call was standing in for a card and actual gift. And so I allowed myself to be roped into the unholy Name Game once again. I looked up the guy’s first name on Google (may Carl Sagan have mercy on my soul—er—carbon?) and emailed it to Dad.

I haven’t heard back, and I’m taking that as good news for now. Friends, it’s good to be good to your parents. But it’s not always fun.

And I guess I need to do a little debunking of my own personal myth for now: the myth of actual escape from Mennocountry. It’s debunked!

There! I said it! Now leave me alone!

That’s all from my end for now. I’ll hope to have some new stuff in the works soon. Good ol’ Mennonite prayer-songs and such. Maybe even a book review.

***

Don’t hold your breath for:

Whatever the Hell the Next Post Will Be About!

A Mennonite? In Austria??

After my last post, it occurred to me that I haven’t said anything about my experience in Austria, other than mentioning that the internet there probably gave my school computer STDs. So here it goes. The adventures of:

A MENNONITE? IN AUSTRIA??

First off, I’ll tell you all that I gave more money to the Catholics than I’m comfortable with. One of the ways this happened was actually quite interesting. One day, one of my professors, who is Jewish, asked me if I wanted to go to a concert at one of the cathedrals. I said yes. The “concert” turned out to be a mass for St. Rita of Cascia. (I remember this because there was a fifteen minute chant at the end, which relied quite heavily on the refrain “Heilige Rita von Cascia, bitte fuer uuuunsss.”) We both started to nod off during the half-hour long recitation of High German Hail Marys and Our Fathers that signaled the beginning of the service. At the end they handed out blessed roses. “Want a rose?” my professor asked. “I think you can go up and get one.” I shrugged. We were at an event that was so incredibly Catholic, and we are so incredibly not. I think the whole effect was lost on both of us.

I gave Catholics even more money when we bought tickets to see the Vienna Choir Boys. They were nosebleed section tickets, in a room with windows that steamed up with the breath of a hundred tourists as the services began. One lady kept getting up to have a look at the choir boys. It was kind of understandable, because you couldn’t actually see anything but the opposite wall in that room. But her behavior was still erratic as heck.

Besides that, readers, I have terrible news: I have found evidence of Amophilia in Austria. One day while perusing the selection at a Viennese bookstore, I saw a book entitled “Amish Photos: Yep We Caught Em LOL” or something  like that. The book was in English and contained numerous glossy photographs of the Amish in America, many of which were taken in Elkhart County. I was both disturbed and curious. Who would have thought that Austrian Amophiles exist? I wasn’t expecting it at all.

Stranger still: another day, in another bookstore, I asked an employee (in German) if there were any books about Mennonites. He looked at me like I was punching his mother and trying to breath plague dust on him at the same time. “Nein,” he said, sounding straight up pissed. I thanked him and left.

What a shady experience, younglings. That is all I can say.

There were actually Mennonites in Austria at one time. I hear they were pretty chill, but right now I don’t have the means of looking such information up. Perhaps later.

Bis dann!

Relief Sale 2010!

Look at me go! I’m making another post so soon!

The dates for Relief Sale ‘010 (Michiana, of course) are September 24th and 25th.

There are two empty seats in the Honda. Just sayin’.

Also, this year the quilt auction starts at 7 am instead of 6 am, Saturday morning! I think I might care more if I could afford the quilt auction anyways.

Hey, if I keep making new paragraphs when I don’t need to it looks like I’m writing more than I actually am!

Wow.

Look, a New Post!

I don’t know if I would call myself a slacker at this point, because I’ve actually been doing important things. Followers, if you are indeed still out there and care at all, I want you to know that finding an apartment that will allow me to afford food and studying for a standardized test (that’s right) have been taking up more time than I would have liked these past couple months. Also, my school computer is acting like it picked up some kind of crazy STD while in Europe and now it’s slow and curses at me in my own voice. And that is the computer with all my clever Mennotable topics. The remedy would be to save these files to my flash drive and to plug said drive into this computer. But that would require standing up. And that is what I do at work. And I am not working right now.

I’m writing now because I found a fun blog and realized that I was neglecting my own. “Mennotable, your blog will never be that fun if you drop out of existence for months on end!” my responsible self said. “Let the people know you exist! You owe it to those dedicated two! Anyways, what was that idea you had three weeks ago?” “You mean talking about my very Mennonite summer?” my writer self asked. “Yeah, that sounds right, sure,” responsible self said.

Well okay. Here is my very Mennonite summer, thus far.

The family is a-swarming, and the hot topic on everybody’s mind this summer is those huge marshmallows that are now available in an IGA near you. I cannot express to you the number of times our fireside chats have shifted focus to this topic. And this is how the conversation always goes:

Mennonite 1: Have you seen those giant marshmallows??

Mennonite 2: No?

Mennonite 3: They are huge!

Mennonite 1: I wish we had them when I was a kid.

Mennonite 3: They’re good if you like toasting them and eating them by the layer.

Mennonite 2: I’ll bet.

And that is all that is said. Every time. You know why? Because they are big marshmallows. What the hell else can be said.

Times got really interesting when my mom, who apparently has trouble with gendered pronouns, told us about the time she had to milk a goat at the house she babysat at.

“He kept kicking his butt up over the pen!” she said.

“‘He?’ Maybe that was the problem,” I said.

lolololol said the family.

My brakes have slowly, but surely, been going out this entire summer. I’ve tried to do a lot of coasting, but that just don’t cut it all the time. Too bad I’m cheap. (I can’t help it, remember?) I imagine someday soon I shall pay for my misdeeds.

My boss keeps asking me about the Amish. I comply. But not for long…

I have this recurring dream in which an earwig scurries across the mattress in front of my face while I am trying to sleep.

It is not a dream.

There has been no homemade ice cream this summer. Morale is low. Also, fish fry’s keep happening while I work. “Hopefully you’ll have off!” my family members say. I think there may be a pattern recognition issue here. Because I get one day off per week. And it’s always the same day. Every week. This whole summer. And it’s never a fish fry day.

I think my family hates me.

The other day I went to the store to get tortilla chips with my Aunt.

“Look at those marshmallows! They are huge!”

“Yup.”

“I bet they’re good if you like toasting them and eating them by the layer.”

“Yup.”

But I don’t. Because my marshmallows don’t toast. They smolder into a black sack of ashy carcinogens. I would eat my marshmallows like that if I wanted ten kinds of cancer.

And that sums up my very Mennonite summer.

Well, Kids

Themennonitetable is leaving the country for a month starting tomorrow, and will not be posting. It will be pretty much like this entire last week, multiplied by four. Except people will be swearing at me in High German instead of American English. Ah yes! an opportunity for learning!

Readers and visitors, I hope your May is fun and goes by without incident.

My last advice for a while: check out some Rainier Marie Rilke. Check out some Frank O’Hara. If at all possible, go to a Mediterranean restaurant.

Cheers, ‘wiedersehen, tchu-uesss!

Where DID All the Kids Get To??

In the previous post I have heroically weeded out the solution to diminishing church attendance. But the question remains to be answered: why were people leaving in the first place? The answer: the kids are being SCARED away! That’s right!

I suddenly recall a conversation I had towards the end of my Sunday School years, with a friend I’ll call Marner. It’s not the same Marner as in the last post. I just like the name Marner.

Our conversation went something like this:

“So Marner, how about that Sunday School?” I asked.

“Well I’ll tell you, Naomi,” he said. “I sure will be glad once I’m at college and not going to Sunday School ever again.”

“Gee Marner, why ever would you ever say that ever? Why would you? Say that? Marner?”

“I’ll tell you Naomi,” he said. “Naomi, do you remember that trip the Sunday School class took to Boston, to help clean the tea out of the bay?”

“Yes, Marner, I distinctly remember I did not attend that venue as I’m allergic to Boston.”

“Well it was during that trip that we were in two separate cars. I was driving one and Sunday School Leader Willard was driving the other one.”

“I see that Marner, but why was that a problem for you on that particular trip?” I asked.

“I didn’t finish the story Naomi,” Marner said. “What happened was we were following Captain Willard and he drove the wrong way up an off-ramp. We drove ONTO an EXIT ramp! I saw these lights coming at us and we had to pull over. We almost died, Noami!”

It was then I decided it may be too much to ask Marner to let go of the grudge he held against Willard, seeing as he could have died.

“Gee, Marner,” I said. “Marner Marner Marner Marner”

“Naomi.”

“Marner.”

“Gee.”

There you have it. THIS is what’s driving your young’uns away, you you you. Take heed. Let’s be safer drivers.

MENNO HOT TOPIC #1: Where’d All the Kids Get To?

I promised that this blog wasn’t going to be theological, and I intend on keeping that promise. The issue I’m about to discuss, though it is rooted in the church, has little to do with doctrine and much to do with lazy, smartass kids. (Like me.)

It is a well known fact among Mennonites that the Mennonite Church in the US is suffering the same fall in attendance as pretty much every other church. For the Mennonites, however, this is a slightly bigger problem because there weren’t that many of us to start out with. In spite of the heroic wombs of our ancestors, capable of pumping out more Jebediahs and Robertas than I want to think about, the practicing Mennonite in the US is a rare thing nowadays.

This trend is especially evident in my church. If our attendance were to be mapped out like the population rate of a country, it would look like an upside down triangle. This is not going unnoticed by those in the top of the triangle, who are church leaders.

I remember one particular Sunday, I was making Mom happy and proud by going to church with her. After the service I went to her Sunday School class because the one for people “my age” would probably have two other “youngsters” besides me, and they would probably be in their 30s. As I sat with mom it was known that we were having a special representative speaking today, probably from the committee for “Where’d All the Kids Get To?” This formidable matron paced across the speaking space, her eyes scanning the aged church-goers in front of her.

“Young people aren’t coming to church anymore,” she said, wagging her finger and avoiding looking at me at all costs. “I want to know why.”

“We need assigned parking spaces!”

“Shut up, Marner! Now, what we need to do…is know how these kids are thinking! How do we…draw them back?” She looked towards a group of octogenarians to the right of me. “What do these kids want?” She stared intently at the autumn-years individuals to my left. “How do we make this church appeal to the younger crowd?” She stuck her head out the window and shouted at the sky. “Why aren’t we ‘hip’ anymore?”

“I got ‘hip’! I got two of ‘em!”

“Shut up, Marner!”

And that is the honest truth of what happened.

Well, this was all a couple years ago and I’ve had sufficient time to think about it. Not that anyone has asked ME, but this is what I’ve come up with:

-Push the church service to the Sunday School slot and make Sunday School the early-bird one. No one cares about that stuff, man!

-Make more services about controversial topics, like card games and beeeeeer!

-A potluck EVERY SUNDAY. Everyone has to bring a dish unless they are college-aged.

-There is to be ABSOLUTELY NO pecan pie made with LITE karo syrup. Come on man, that ain’t right. Also, more casseroles and curry dishes.

-HOMEMADE ICE CREAM EVERY WEEK

– Dutch Blitz tournaments!

– Racket-ball in the Fellowship Hall. Now, hear me out on this one: RACKET BALL in the FELLOWSHIP HALL! The very rhyme in this phrase suggests some sort of divine purpose.

-Instead of giving graduating seniors the Mennonite Hymnal, hows about you all pitch in to get us a nice car? Don’t pretend like you can’t! And I think I should get one just for making these excellent suggestions.

I’m sure that if every Mennonite church in these here United States employed such changes, those young whippersnappers would be convinced of the value of the Mennonite belief system. I mean, what congregation that has free food and RACKET BALL IN THE FELLOWSHIP HALL could be wrong?

CASE CLOSED!

Discover Something New When I Post:

Where DID All the Kids Get To??

MENNOCON: [Insert Quip]

Once every two years, something magical happens. Dissolute rabble-rousers from all over the US and Canada descend upon one very unfortunate city, fill the streets with the musty scent of manure and Volvos and pollute the air with the sound of four-part harmony.

Onlookers look on. Children scream. Women Cry. Mad men kick the dust up with their paltry heels and curse life’s twisted art.

The official name for this event: the Mennonite Church USA Convention ___insert year___. I call it “Mennocon.”

It’s always in exotic locations like Columbus or Pittsburgh. Once it was in San Jose and that was almost unbearably  exotic, albeit random and absolutely meaningless. I still wonder if they used the “throw a dart at the map!” method. Who knows, next year it could be ten miles off the coast of Mobile. The citizens of Mobile would never know the horror that almost befell them.

During my high school years I, like numbers of fellow Mennonites, made the trek to Mennocon. It is—and I am not making this up—an ingathering of Mennonites of varying ages from the US and Canada, which involves seminars, groups eatin’s, worship services, and—what else?—COMMITTEE MEETIN’S. This explains the smell of manure I mentioned earlier.

LOL JK LUV U GUISE

I’m sure you’re all wondering about the seminars. They were on different topics really, including “Sex, Drugs, and Rock & Roll” and “Mennonite Colleges in Canada” and “Mennonite Colleges in the US.” Really, these seminars could have been combined. Oh yeah, there were ones on comparing the bible to famous fantasy novels such as Lord of the Rings, The Chronicles of Narnia, and, yes, Harry Potter. I am a dork and went to one of these. And the speaker made a joke about Mennos being like Hobbits, so it was worth it.

There were also options for groups to get hooked up with different volunteer organizations in the areas we were staying in. Our group always did that. One year we put on a community party for some kids and another year we worked at a community thrift store doing sorting and general clean up.

Well, other than this there isn’t much to be said about Mennocon. I went to two of them, though. Here are my “fondest” memories from Mennocon:

-Going out for a meal with other future Goshen College students and getting a bottle thrown at our group from a moving vehicle driven by locals. I wanted it to hit me.

-When whoever put together the slides for the worship service wrote “prostate” instead of “prostrate” for the old hymn “All Hail the Pow’r of Jesus’ Name.” It was running on a loop so basically every day for a week we sang “Let the angels PROSTATE fall.”

-Attending a really big outdoor hymn-sing in San Jose. That was actually cool.

-Playing three hours of hardcore Dutch Blitz on the floor of one of the hotel’s lounges in San Jose.

-Making a pit stop in Charleston on the way to Charlotte, NC and having someone ask us if we were “They-er for the Nas-carrrr”

-Finding “exciting” underwear in the donation bins at a Goodwill we volunteered at in San Jose.

-Sticking my feet in the Pacific Ocean. Then back into my shoes to get on the bus.

-Leading everyone back to our hotel like Moses when we got “lost” watching the fireworks in Charlotte.

-Collecting a multitude of pens from seminars and booths.

And here are some pictures from Mennocon ’07 in San Jose:

Picture taken just before I pulled the fire alarm. No worship service that day! Nyuk-nyuk-nyuk. A few got trampled but I think we all knew that it was for the good of the whole.

Look at all those layabout Mennos hanging around outside the convention center! Nasty!

I met this guy on a group excursion to the Santa Cruz boardwalk. We exchanged info. He was alright.

Don’t leave home without reading the next issue:

MENNO HOT TOPIC #1: Where’d All the Kids Get To?

Amophiles: Can Such People Exist??

Yes. They can and they do, heaven help us.

Perhaps you are wondering what an amophile is, and rightly so. I doubt that I invented this word, but Microsoft Word and Google seem to suggest exactly that. So here is the nice definition of “amophile”: an admirer of Amish people. The not-so-nice definition: batshit crazy and annoying as hell.

A disturbing painting came to light a few years ago. I can’t find it anywhere and I’m still trying to decide whether or not that is a good thing (as I think my point would be made with it.) The painting is by none other than Thomas “Dr. Frankenstein” Kincade and it is a work of monstrous proportions. It depicts a family of Amish people in a buggy, pulling up to their Amish house, which is seemingly a giant gingerbread house in the middle of a fluffy snow covered field. Yes. Because that is verrry Amish. Living is a house made of gingerbread.

I blame the amophiles.

Other instances of the effects of amophilia can be observed in the multitude of Amish romance novels and made-for-TV films that currently abound. That’s right, Amish romances. From what I can gather most of these romances include someone that secretly plays the guitar, who becomes a Methodist at the end of the series. Well, whoop-de-la.

And then there’s something I like to call the “Amish Theme Park.” These are local attractions that tend to spring up in areas that Amish folks live in. They usually include a restaurant that specializes in chicken and Stauffer’s lasagna, a gift shop, and, in one case that I know of, a theater.

I was waiting to attend a theatrical event at one of these local travesties (as if the theater were one of the great Amish feats. Amish theater, man. Had a whole section on it in my drama lit class. Contributed soooo much to the postmodern SCENE, man!) It was then that a herd of octogenarians creaked and stumbled off of a bus, probably the “Amo-Stalkers USA.” They all sat huffing in that little waiting room filled with all sorts of “Amish” artifacts for the earnest tourist. Artifacts such as creepy dolls with no faces, floral print bonnets, and ceramic dragons and unicorns.

“Look at this Fred!” I heard the throaty exclamation issued from some old matronly Methodist, probably named Phyllis. I followed the wizened finger, which pointed to what appeared to be a scant number of sticks glued into the general shape of a box with a handle, but that wouldn’t hold anything in it due to some serious flaws in structural integrity. “An Amish toolbox!”

Thus many throaty issuings from all within earshot were heard. I heard something akin to the snap of a falling tree as “Frank” bent down and took the tag in his hand. “Wah—why it says it’s an Amish Toolbox!” Fred concurred, and yet again all within earshot commenced to throaty laughter.

“I’ll have to get that for you!” said “Phyllis,” always the kidder, and all within earshot suffered cardiac arrest.

Please, don’t be these people. You are not only annoying, but also rewarding Amish behaving badly.

We Mennonites could open our own Mennoland if we wanted. Yeah, that’s right! Complete with such interactive games as “Dunk or Pour?” “Midwestern Agriculture 2000!”“Don’t let the pastor see you drinking!” and “Flee Soviet Russian! An Obstacle Course” (All the sudden I’m sensing an upcoming blog…) So, why don’t we open our own little Menno theme parks and sell our own little ceramic dragon and unicorn talismans? Because WE have a little thing called PRIDE! No wait…that’s one of the deadly sins…

SHAME! That’s right, we still have our SHAME! And maybe it’s time the Amish remembered the SHAME that took us all over Europe, the SHAME that kept us alive, the SHAME that helped us flee to a new land with opportunities and freedoms, that same land that somehow found the same way to imprison and kill us, at least until CO status became an option.

We still have our shame, Am-os. Where is yours? For shame!

And that concludes Amish week, because there is simply nothing more of interest to be said. Hoorah!

Put the cows to pasture for:

Mennocon: [Insert Quip]

RUMSPRINGA

Media people, surprise surprise, love nothing better than to sensationalize Amish life when given the chance. The greatest tool they have for doing this is the “Rumspringa.” Wikipedia defines “rumspringa” as:

a period of adolescence for some members of the Amish…that begins around the age of sixteen and ends when a youth chooses baptism within the Amish church or instead leaves the community.^[1]:10-11 The vast majority choose baptism and remain in the church.^[1]:14 … Amish elders generally view this as a time for courtship and finding a spouse.^[1]:14

During rumspringa, the Wikipedia article explains,

A minority of Amish youth do diverge from established customs.^[1]:13 Some may be found:^[1]:10-11

Wearing non-traditional clothing and hair styles (referred to as dressing “English”)

Driving vehicles other than horse-drawn vehicles (for communities that eschew motor vehicles)

Not attending home prayer

Drinking and/or using recreational drugs

Engaging in pre-marital sex

Holy Buggywheels! Us’n Mennonites have a period in our lives similar to this so-called “rumspringa”! We call it COLLEGE.

Also, I’d like to point out how funny it is that people get their kicks off of considering the Amish as human beings with any sense of sexuality about them. Honestly, how do you think they got all those kids? It ain’t through prayer and fastin’, marm.

So take that Rumspringa! Rumors of the Amish being interesting beyond the average person! DEBUNKED!

CLOSE YOUR EYES IN HOLY DREAD FOR:

Amophiles: Can Such People Exist?