Shellen Out

P.S. I think I finally found Mel Gibson's house, and I'm pretty sure Sting is putting on a show there right now. I wish I had binoculars.

I can't figure out if this is irony or just the Catholics being cruel:

This weekend, two larger groups were scheduled to stay at the Serra Retreat: a wine appreciation group and a men's Alcoholics Anonymous group. Their tables are right next to each other.

It's hard out here for a priest (or pimp... whatever).

It must be really tiring to be a priest. Not only do you have to deal with church bureaucrasy, you're on call all the time for your "flock." And they depend on your for everything!

If you lead a secular life and have issues, you pay a therapist; you talk to friends; you read books, take a walk... basically deal with the problem yourself. If you're seriously religious, you depend wholly on your pastor/priest/minister to tell you what to do. Holy responsibility.

I think that's yet another reason they should let females become priests. First of all, I know a lot more women than men who would be comfortable with the idea of never having sex again. Second of all, women LIKE hearing people's problems, whereas poor Father Phil has resorted to pasting a bunch of feeble biblical and secular quotations onto a Word doc because he just doesn't have the patience to deal with PT's problems.

Speaking of PT, she's not all bad. Just like so many religious people I've met... she doesn't really read anything but religious texts and publications, and she doesn't know anything about the outside world.

For example, at lunch, some fat Australian asshole was trying to chat her up using Christianity to build common ground. He's a Mormon, so he started out by assuring her that "a Christian is a Christian," whether Mormon or Catholic. It's still all about Jesus.

Then - I kid you not - in the middle of talking about how great it is to be a compassionate Christian, he started bashing Muslims, saying they were godless, violent people who needed to be stopped. And she bought it!

After resisting the urge to pelt him with mashed potatoes as he walked away, I spent 10 minutes re-educating PT on why he wasn't a true Christian, because true Christians - like Jesus, people! - love and respect all people equally - even the freaking Muslims. Also, by the way, Islam reveres Jesus, too. This was a huge surprise to her.

Anyway, it's probably good I'm leaving for the sake of her Catholicism. I gave her at least two lessons in Buddhism already without her knowing... if I was here longer, who knows how much damage I could do.

I think the kitchen staff have adopted me. We were joined tonight by a big group of guys on an AA retreat, and I noticed the kitchen guys standing like sentries between them and me... very sweet. The one person they didn't manage to keep out was Peppy Texas, so I finally sucked it up and talked with her over Friday Fish.

Turns out she's here to get some guidance over what to do with her job. She works for her church, but feels like it's taking too much out of her. Father Phil has met with her a few times since she's been here, but he apparently told her she "deserved a day off today." Translated: Father Phil is tired of you.

Which left the job to me.

That's right... little ol' pro-choice, pro-premarital sex, pro-female priests, gay marriage and democracy me thought I'd see what I could do to help the poor Christian Republican.

Fortunately, her problem transcends religion: she seems to be an energetic overachiever with some martyr tendencies desperately seeking validation. I told her (in my rusty Catholic) that she needs to delegate and have faith in others, just as she'd hope they'd have faith in her. And then I helped her put together a church-based marketing campaign to drum up volunteers for her group. When I left, she said, "Wow, I can see the wisdom of Christ in you... thank you for ministering to me!" Nice.

I was feeling pretty smug as I went out on my post-dinner walk, but then, in classic Chris Shellen style, I walked smack into a cloud of those little flying ants, which covered my body like sprinkles on a doughnut. A little bug's life humility for me.

Nature has its drawbacks. A bee somehow made its way into my room and flung itself onto my desk, scaring the sh*t out of me as I was writing. Knowing I'd never be able to sleep until he was either gone or dead, I grabbed the bible, listed for the buzzing and basically smote him. But there's nothing in there about not killing bugs that sting like hell, so I don't feel that bad. Rest in peace, little pollen bug in my toilet.

Those nuns are a gossipy lot! A few days ago, I told one of them that my dad passed away, and today another one came up and wished me well on getting over my grief (her dad had died a few years ago, too). Still, sweet ladies... they all wished me a "blessed year ahead" before they left. If they have any sort of pull with heaven at all, I've got a great year coming.

I also found out that I got the best room in the entire monastery. I feel sort of guilty about it, really. Some of the other private retreatants were complaining about their bedrooms at breakfast, and I found out that they were sharing bathrooms between rooms; they were in hotter upstairs rooms that faced the parking lot, and they only had twin beds.

Even in my building (which I apparently shared with the nuns), every other room but mine has two twin beds... I got the only full. But then I guess I didn't exactly choose the monastic life. Plus I am here for a week.

My big question is, when I leave, do I tip the monastery maid? She's not a nun... just a sweet hispanic lady who would probably appreciate a little recognition. I'm just not sure if she'd see it as an insult or not. Hmm... maybe I'll put $10 or $15 in the donation box.

There are other non-Catholics at the retreat!

A new couple joined us tonight... fun people from the valley. They were a little cagey until I asked if they were meeting with Father Warren or one of the sisters and the guy said, "Well, we're not actually Catholic." I was so excited... it was like running into someone from Venice Beach after wandering around China for a month, wondering what everyone is saying.

The guy in the couple admitted that he felt a little out of place, too, but that "once you get past all the Jesuses, it's a wonderful place." Which makes me think that Catholics might be able to win a few more converts if they got a little marketing help. A little logo change; some new catch phrases; less blood and original sin...

I told the couple that a few of my Jewish friends had expressed interest in the place and the woman laughed. She said, "I'll bet they have a special guest room all ready for that! A life-size, porcelain, full-color crucifixion weeping blood and staring at you from the ceiling." I'm so sad they're leaving tomorrow.

I do have to say, though... most of the people I've met have been great spokespersons for the Catholic religion. With the exception of the peppy Texan whom I successfully dodged again at dinner, everyone else (including a very young priest and a very old Irish nun) talked about moving the church in a more progressive, interactive direction. I doubt they're jumping on the pro-choice/sex is okay! bandwagon just yet, but it was nice to hear opinions like that from the people spreading the gospel.

Okay... time to pass Mel Gibson's house again and then get back to writing.

I was almost discovered at dinner tonight.

This week, the monastery is playing host to a gathering of nuns from convents and parishes around the world. More of them wear smiles than habits, so it hasn't been too weird. My only mildly uncomfortable experience was with another "private retreatant" like myself who introduced herself at dinner tonight.

I forget her name, but basically she's a super peppy woman in her late 30s sporting a fanny pack and highlighted hair. She bounded up in the middle of dinner, sat down and said, "I've been wanting to meet you all day! How are you?" (breakfast and lunch are "silent meals" for the sisters, so you can't talk until dinner... they totally cheat and whisper, though)

We chatted a bit, and when I told her I was a writer she said, "OOOHHH! You need to meet this woman I met the other day in Hollywood. She's wonderful and putting together a group of Christian writers to try and make movies and TV better. You know they just put out the most horrible stuff these days."

Yep, I'm writing and marketing it.

Fortunately it didn't last long, and I was able to fake my way through it by throwing in a bunch of "isn't it just a miracles" and "that's a real blessing, isn't its". I'm such a fraud. She asked me to pray for her tonight, but I don't think that's gonna happen.

After dinner, I went for a walk down the hill and came upon an Irish nun in full habit and a Mexican novice. I was about to turn around, but they told me the road circled the monastery, so I just followed them, listening to my devil music on my iPod.

Let me tell you, those nuns can walk. That 60-something sister was booking down that road, and everyone she encountered stopped and waved. (Even if you're not religious, you don't want to take any chances... I get it)

I stayed about 10 feet behind them the whole way until we hit the hill to the monastery and they slowed down. I tried to walk along the long bit of the road to slow myself down, but it was no use - I totally caught up to them.

The iPod etiquette guide my friend Jon sent me doesn't have a listing for nuns, but I thought it safest to take off the headphones and chat with them. So what was the first thing this holy woman from Ireland said to me?

"You know, we passed Mel Gibson's house down there."

The nuns are escaping.

I caught them today while I was on my run down the hill... four elderly women packed into a Civic clearly up to no good. I suppose even women of the lord need to shop. Though it is one more strike against them, I'm afraid, given that I heard two of them sharing their excitement over dinner about how close we are to Mel Gibson's house.

In their defense, one of them did bless me this morning when I helped her at breakfast. I'm not a religious person, but there's something really calming and cool about being blessed by a nun... even if it's just because I helped her with her coffee mug. Nobody blesses anyone in LA. We do wave when we cut them off, but that's not quite as good spirited.

I was thinking about Henry David Thoreau this morning as I went for a walk.

"I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived."

Well, I came to Serra Retreat to finish my screenplay, but I suppose a place like this has a talent for sneaking up a person, even if they're not really looking to examine their life.

I can't get the South Park song "Shut Your F*cking Face, Uncle F*cker" out of my head.

This is a problem, seeing as how I'm on a writing retreat at a local Franciscan monastery. The priest I talked to at dinner did use the word "hell", but I think that's about as far as it goes.

Loving the Serra Retreat so far... it's perfect for any writer looking to hole up in a beautiful place where there's nothing to do but go for walks, run, sleep and write. Even the people here are lovely, though I'm disappointed that I've only seen one monk.

I have seen a lot of Jesuses, though. He's pretty much everywhere here, which is a little unsettling even if my sister and I did attend all sorts of churches with our friends as kids. The worst is the little crucified one above my bed. I get that it's a symbol/reminder of his sacrifice for mankind, but I just can't imagine him wanting to be remembered that way. Maybe some happier time, like his baptism, or after he impressed someone by turning water to wine, you know?

(How is it I'm experiencing Catholic guilt for writing this stuff when I'm not Catholic?)