Ungodly

Yesterday morning I organized and retrieved some financial documents. Then I and my family trekked on over to a bank that was recommended to me, so that we could apply for pre-approval on a home mortgage. "Mortgage" has an interesting etymology. It is compounded from the Middle English/Germanic "mort" and "gage". "Gage" signifies "something deposited as a pledge of performance." "Mort" of course, means "unto the death." Thus we see how bankers and other professionals disguise their true intentions by using old words in dead languages, the meanings of which everyone outside their profession has long since ceased to think about.

It also proves undeniably the truism that common sense is in shorter and shorter supply with each successive generation. It's patently obvious. I mean, look at these kids we have coming out of the the high schools today! None of these young cashiers know how to make change or speak proper American. Everything with the hizzle drizzle my bizzle? And they don't know fashion; the girls look like hobos and the boys look like prostitutes. All they do is play their - what is it - Atari Nintendo videos all day long. That or get themselves into trouble doing the crystal meth. And they act like idiots on the road, racing around with their car stereos thumpety-thump-thumping and their hands waving out all of the windows. Morons.

Anyway, I can just imagine the ghost of my great-great-great-something ancestor (let's call him Uncle Zebekiah) hovering over my shoulder in the bank office. "Stupid boy," he thunders. "What couldst thou be thinking? Thou wouldst do best to secret away thine earnings for the proper time. Why sellest thine family and thine self unto interminable servitude and death? Usury! Usurist," he accuses, pointing to the account representative. I don't think "usurist" is a real word, but you must forgive Uncle Zeb because he only had a third grade education. By the way, we couldn't hear him or see him because he's in the land of the undead and all. (I hope that goes without saying, but you never know with blog readers.)

Maria, the friendly account representative, asked us some questions. "What vehicles do you own? Do you currently own any real estate or other property, that could be used as collateral ...?"

("Harlot," screamed Uncle Zeb. "What manner of dress is this for a woman? Gods, where is thy husband?) We explained that we are first-time prospective home buyers.

"What are your other debts? Have you ever defaulted on a loan? Ever been convicted of a felony? Ever declared bankruptcy ..."

("Licensious unholy wench! Slanderer!) No, we have never done any of those things.

"Now," said Maria, putting down her pen and smiling kindly. "I'll need to see your bank statements for the past two months, and copies of your tax returns and W2's for the past two years."

("Gossip! Pryer into others' affairs," spluttered Uncle Zeb.)

"I'll need to go make copies of these. I'll be a few minutes," said Maria. "Say, do your kids like to draw?" With a little twinkle, she presented two notepads and pens, which we accepted with great relief. Since we hurried in because of the rain, we forgot to bring toys, and the girls were driving us crazy.

("Oh, right! Wrangle thy way into the good graces of these innocents!") I won't bother with the rest of what good ol' Uncle Zeb said, because at this point all his speech degraded into incoherence; eventually he gave up and wandered off to sulk behind a potted plant.

While Maria was gone Michelle and I looked at one another. "Are you okay," I asked her, "You look nervous."

"Aren't you," she asked. "We've never done anything like this before."

I squeezed her hand and smiled reassuringly, but I too was nervous. I kept having this uneasy, irrational feeling that I was leading my family into ruin and ... damnation? Was that a hint of, of brimstone in the air?

"Dear," I said, "whatever happens, happens."

"Really," she asked. I melt when she looks at me like that.

"Of course!" I explained that really what I had just said was a tautology and logically true.

She got that distant look she gets when she is not a hundred percent certain she has understood what I have said, and furthermore, she suspects that if she did understand it, she wouldn't like it. She is unsure whether she should bother trying to figure it out, and instead wonders why I insist on doing this to her when all she really needs is a shred of a shadow of a hint that there is some purpose or intention behind all that we have been doing these eight years, two months, and two days since we were wed. She just wants some sense of security.

I relented as soon as I realized the gravity of her mood. "Darling, we will hear what they have to tell us, and then go from there. We're not committed to anything." We smile at one another.

I look at the clock on Maria's desk. It's one of those clocks that are given out at office parties in recognition of long-standing good service to the company. It's made of crystal or glass or acrylic, and silver, and there's a little engraved plaque on it.

I have a feeling in my bones as though I am disappointing someone, somewhere. I smell sweat and tears and smoke far off. I ask myself if I've done the best I could, and if I've made the best plans. I haven't, of course. No one does.

In the grand scheme each of our lives is insignificant. I know this. Not one thing we can ever hope to do will have any kind of lasting impact on this great spinning universe, with its huge whirling pinprick suns and its vast cosmic oceans of black twisted emptiness. Our lives will be short and our names will not be remembered. Governments and nations will be built and they will crumble, as will the entire planet one day. And it is unbelievably, profoundly important that we do our very best in everything we undertake.

As troubling as these moments are, they are what keep me alive and keen. Whatever comes, I know I must meet the challenge with my best. And I love those whom I love, and those who love me love me, regardless of whether I succeed or fail. And I try to feel everything, clinging to as many moments as I possibly can, sharing as much of myself as possible with those around me.