THE DEATH OF HOSPITALITY

I'm sure we've all had this happen. While enjoying a lazy morning sleep in or working at the computer in pajamas, there comes a knock at the door. When you answer the door, it's some talkative individual wanting to bend your ear for hours. There was a time when people dropped in unexpectedly at each other's homes and were welcomed. In our modern society, why is this no longer the case?

People are busy. All of us have places to go and people to see. The last thing we want is somebody wasting our time. Most folks understand this but certain individuals don't seem aware of the fact that they're boring us to death.

As in the song "Who Can it Be Now?" by Men At Work, people also value their down time. Nothing can irritate us quite like being bothered late in the evening when we hope to relax. Even if somebody is concerned about us, in the case of the visitor in the song, we still don't care to let people know that we wish not to be disturbed.

In this age of e-mail, Skype, land lines, and texting, people have no excuse to barge in on others for casual visits. Through social media sites, e-mail lists, and other online tools, anybody can contact us to arrange a convenient time for a visit. I feel that if it isn't a dire emergency, such as a neighbour seeing flames coming out of the roof, people should use those channels of communications first.

Sadly, there are individuals who bore us to tears. They just don't get the message, unless we rudely tell them to take a hike, that they're wasting our time. Like in the Talking Heads song "No Compassion", we might have to say to them, "Go see your analyst. Isn't that what they're paid for?"

I've mentioned in all three of my books how I enjoy uninterrupted solitude. Check out my first two paperbacks at the Bruce Atchison's books page. Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Powell's Books stock my latest memoir called How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity.

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FOURTEEN YEARS OF PARADISE

Today marks the fourteenth anniversary of my moving away from the noise and lousy neighbours of Edmonton. After much prayer, I put a bid on a house in Radway. By God's grace, I've had more than just a quiet place to live. This home has been my sanctuary from the dread of what inconsiderate neighbours would do next.

Back in 1993, a family of churlish people moved next door to the house I had bought in Edmonton. Whenever I complained about their dogs and their sun inviting noisy kids over, they became increasingly hostile. Because of the two years of constant tension and worry of what stupid stunt they'd pull next, I decided to sell my bungalow and move to a condominium. From what I heard, they had strict rules about dogs and noise.

Was I ever in for a rude awakening. The cars in the parking lot were close to each unit and their noise as they warmed up drove me mad each morning. The rumble of traffic from two main thoroughfares also grated on my nerves. Even the furnace bothered me. When it ran, it sent a loud hum through the entire unit.

One of the condo owners was an amateur mechanic. I often had to listen to him revving car engines as I tried to concentrate on my freelance writing. This man became hostile when I suggested he stop repairing cars and turn down their radios as he worked. The condo board president was of little help in convincing him to stop too.

I thought going back to renting would be a good idea as apartments for adults have strict rules against noise. I was horribly mistaken. The high rise apartment building  vibrated like a tuning fork with every car which drove past it. Furthermore, the apartments were being sold as condos. This meant that the new owners were renovating their new homes day in and day out.

Moving to the main floor of a rental house didn't help me find a quiet place to write either. The next door neighbours ran a tow truck company from their home. Large diesel vehicles often vibrated the house from one end to another as their owners ate supper or lounged around at home. Those tow truck owners became huffy when I asked them to turn down the loud music in their backyard and when I complained to the bylaw officer about their monstrously-big flat bed truck.

What a wonderful change it was for me when I moved to Radway. This house I bought is on the edge of town and I have no close neighbours. I'm across the tracks from the hamlet and there's a farmer's field behind me. Apart from magpies in the warmer weather, I'm not bothered by much anymore. Writing is so much more pleasant now that I have the solitude and the peaceful surroundings to inspire me.

I wrote in more detail about this wondrous gift of God to me in How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity. It's for sale at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Virtual Bookworm Publishers.

THE JOYS OF SOLITUDE

Most of my acquaintances can't understand my passion for solitude. If they only knew all the events in my life, I feel sure they would agree with my quest to live alone.

Because of neighbourhood children throwing rocks at me and calling me names, I often played alone. Nobody was around to hurt me and I could do whatever I liked. I often enjoyed being by myself during recess at school as well. I could let my imagination run wild without anybody saying, "That's stupid."

The first time I lived alone as a bachelor proved to be a drag. The nosy landlady kept barging into my room to tidy up or to find out what I was up to. I once caught her standing outside of my door. She had no legitimate business for being there, therefore I realized she was just spying on me. I once saw her staring through my window as well. Moving from that room was a pleasure and my new room proved to be much nicer.

Though I had to use the laundry sinks to wash up in and I had to share the fridge with my next door neighbour, I loved my new place. Nobody barged in at unexpected moments. The landlord respected my privacy as well. In fact, we became good friends. Paying my monthly rent was like visiting somebody I admired rather than just paying the landlord.

Sharing a room never worked out for me either. At the three boarding houses I lived at, I could never come and go without being seen by others. My Christian faith was mocked at one house by my room mate. He even put pornographic pictures in my New Testament and radio's battery compartment just to annoy me. During my stay at another home, the landlady's son scorned my opinions and threatened to beat me up.

What finally broke the metaphorical camel's back was when my sister Diane and her friend moved into my tiny room. I had to  sleep in another room which the landlord kept for visits by his relatives. I felt even more upset when a third girl invited herself to stay in my room.

When I was allowed in my room during the day, my money kept disappearing from its hiding place. One of the girls claimed it was "community property" and they had shared some food with me so I owed them. I never signed on for that.

Never again did I share a room, apartment, suite, or house with anybody. Though Mom begged me to get a room mate so the cost of renting would be cut in half, I never again fell for that nonsense. Family members and friends have stayed at my places of residence for up to two weeks but I never again had any sort of room mate.

I mentioned my trials and tribulations while finding a private place to live at in How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity. Read more about this wonderful testimony of God's providential grace at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Virtual Bookworm Publishers.

ALONE AGAIN, THANKFULLY.

"You can't be alone for Christmas," a female coworker exclaimed once when I told her of my plans for the holidays. In her mind, it was akin to the unpardonable sin. Yet I felt no remorse for being "alone' for Christmas. In fact, I enjoyed myself each twenty-fifth of December since 1992.

I'm not truly alone because the Holy Spirit dwells in me. Being part of the Trinity, he connects me to God and Jesus Christ. During the day that we designate as the Lord's birthday, I ponder the wonder of God becoming a baby born to a poor couple.

I also feel out of place when I go to family gatherings. People become so emotional and nostalgic about memories that I don't share with them. At the gatherings I did make the mistake of attending, I felt like an intruder rather than a guest.

I particularly don't like noisy situations where children run around and everybody talks at once. I'd rather be with a few or just one close friend than in an over-crowded house.

My rabbits are also great company. They make no other demands upon me than to feed and pet them. They're quiet creatures who enjoy an orderly situation. Joy isn't a frantic display of happiness but a steady feeling of well being. Seeing Deborah or Mark resting and enjoying the moment gives me so much more pleasure than loud parties.

I need no other gifts than to be left alone. Though I appreciate the thought, my tastes are far different than those of others. Quite often, I receive presents that I have no use for. Some even disgust me, such as the Santa toilet seat cover Mom gave me once.

One of my favourite activities on Christmas Day is to watch old videos and listen to music that I haven't heard in ages. I've been blessed with so much stuff that it could entertain me for a year before coming to the end of it.

Other people also feel as I do about this day. My next door neighbour, a friend in Jamaica, and another in Texas all agree with me that the whole Christmas spirit thing is humbug. What used to be a holy day has become a greed fest. Stores encourage kids to beg for the latest and greatest electronic gadgets and some become angry when they don't get them. That's not the attitude people ought to inculcate into their children.

So have your merry Christmas if you want. My rabbits and I will relax and enjoy the quietude of our home.

TEN WONDERFUL YEARS OF SOLITUDE.

Living here in this tiny prairie hamlet has been like a permanent writer's retreat for me. It was an answer to my many anguished prayers for a quiet place near a small town that had a grocery store and a post office. Though I miss being able to take a city bus to any shop I desire, I wouldn't trade this three bedroom house for any in Edmonton.

Since moving from the noise-ridden metropolis, which had been my home for almost thirty years, I have written many freelance articles. My two memoirs were also "penned" here and self-published by a Calgary company called Blitzprint.

From my first book, When a Man Loves a Rabbit (Learning and Living With Bunnies), here is a brief account of how I arrived in this writer's paradise.

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Poor Gideon had to stay in his cage for most of that eagerly anticipated day on which I moved to Radway. Pastor Doug arrived at ten o'clock that morning with his black pickup truck and we hauled about five loads of furniture and boxes into it while my little prince fumed in his prison. Gideon just couldn't understand why he suddenly wasn't allowed to roam free in his accustomed way.

My bunny, his cage and litter were taken on the last trip that evening. I worried that he'd stress in the carrier, which we had put in the truck cab, but the hour-long trip didn't bother him too badly. Maybe he'd given up being free by that time.

Doug left my place a little after midnight and I was so weary from hauling things that I put Gideon's cage in the bathroom, placed his litter box by the tub and gave him his pellets. Once again he went into his head-bobbing routine. He periscoped and put his paws on the tub and toilet, trying to get a better view of the new place.

I was about to lock Gideon in the cage again when I realized I could contain him in the room. It was about five feet by twelve and he had plenty of space. Bathrooms are great places to keep rabbits in because there aren't many things they can chew on or ruin with urine.

As I went to sleep, I marvelled at the sound of frogs croaking outside my window, instead of the rumble of traffic and the thud, thud of stereos to which I was accustomed.

When I woke up the next morning, I felt like a child at the start of summer vacation. I was free of the city racket and I actually slept without earplugs for the first time in years.

As soon as I was out of bed, I visited Gideon. He had enjoyed the night and to my delight, he used his litter box where I'd placed it. I feared he'd pee somewhere inconvenient, like in the doorway where I'd step in it.

Though I was extremely busy unpacking, I let Gideon explore the laundry room that was next to the bathroom. It was about the same shape and size, and the appliances weren't installed yet. Gideon had a great time conquering that area. In addition to his periscoping, he kept hopping between the bathroom and laundry room as if he were memorizing the route.

My little prince seemed delighted to have two new rooms to call his own and I videoed him putting his paws on things and hopping around. My bunny boy's innocent happiness gladdened my heart and made the chore of unpacking that much easier.

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When a Man Loves a Rabbit (Learning and Living With Bunnies) and Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), my second memoir, are available at the InScribe writers group site. I hope to have my third, and most likely final, memoir called How I Was Razed published by the end of this year.

The day I knew God got it.

Throughout most of my life, various Sunday school teachers and radio preachers gave me the impression that we had to lobby God relentlessly with our prayers before he would give us our daily bread, let alone do anything nice for us. Dickens' Mr. Scrooge seemed positively generous compared to the tight-fisted creator they portrayed. Worse yet, certain legalistic church elders taught me that I didn't receive the sight I prayed so earnestly for because I had hidden sin, a lack of faith, or ancestral sin blocking the way. That all changed on June 18, 2000 when God lovingly answered one of my most heartfelt prayers, disproving the blasphemous assumptions of my former teachers. The following is adapted from my upcoming memoir, How I Was Razed, a story of my years in a cult church and my eventual discovery of the real God..
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I sighed with pleasure as the long day of moving into the new house finally ended. As I lay in bed, I marvelled at hearing a chorus of frogs instead of the maddening rumble of Edmonton's traffic. "Thanks so much Heavenly Father for your awesome kindness to me," I prayed. I drifted off to the amphibian serenade and for the first time in four years, I slept without ear plugs. Waking up the next morning, I felt as jubilant as a child on the first day of summer vacation. "Thanks for today and this wonderful house, Heavenly Father," I rejoiced as I leapt out of bed. After racing to the bathroom and checking on my bunny, Gideon, to see if the move still upset him, I opened all the windows to let in the June breezes and then ate breakfast. The serenity of my new neighbourhood astonished me afresh as I munched my cereal. Everything I prayed for, God provided. I had asked for a place outside of a town, with no nearby neighbours, and with amenities. Now I lived in a three bedroom home in Radway, the sort of place that I had yearned so long and hard for. "Thanks Heavenly Father that you get it," I exclaimed as I walked to the kitchen window and admired the sunlit trees in the neighbouring field. "You actually get it about me. This place is a miracle. I used to think that you didn't care about my feelings but here's the proof," I said as I slapped my right hand on the counter. My eyes filled with tears of joy and relief as I realized how completely the Lord understood my need for quietude.
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God still hasn't given me 20/20 vision but I see much better spiritually than all those physically sighted blind guides of the blind who once judged and condemned me. I hope to have How I Was Razed in print next year. In the meantime, please check out Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School) and When a Man Loves a Rabbit (Learning and Living With Bunnies) at the Inscribe Writers Group site. The page has descriptions of my books, pictures of their front covers, and PayPal buttons for your ordering convenience.