Catholic -- With Everything

Cilla’s friend Veronica invited her to go to “Mass” with her.  I thought it would be educational, and one thing I learned from the Unitarians was "Never pass up a chance to learn something."  Cilla came home talking about the incense (which smelled “neat”), the bells, and the “beauty-full outfits” the priests wore.  Unfortunately for Cilla, who likes as much pageantry as possible, our Episcopal church is “Low,” which can be described as “beautiful in its simplicity,” “no nonsense” or “dreary and boring.”

When she asked if she could go the next week, I said, “If it’s not inconvenient for Veronica’s family.”  I doubted that it would be.  How much trouble is it to save a soul from eternal damnation? 

The next week she came home all excited because Veronica’s mother had given her a dollar and she’d lit a candle and made a wish. “You’re supposed to say a prayer,” I said.  Then a thought occurred to me.  “Was there a statue by the candles?”

“Oh, yes, Mary.  Veronica said we call her ‘the Blessed Virgin Mother.’”  Ed started coughing.  It’s too bad he wasn’t drinking anything at the time. It would have been a wonderful sitcom moment.  I always thought I was broad minded, but I suddenly understood how parents could have their children kidnapped from cults.

I almost told her to say a prayer at the Jesus statue next time, but I didn’t want to put the idea of a next time in her head.  I needn’t have worried.  “Can I have a dollar for next week?”

Ed gave her two.  “Here’s one for Veronica.”

I was glad Betsey and Josh weren’t around, or we would have had to give them money, too.

A Test of Faith or Something

I never really liked being a Unitarian.  The church didn’t have candles or statues or stained glass windows.   The minister and choir didn’t even wear robes.  In Sunday School we talked about helping other people (boring), taking care of the earth (depressing), and ending war (terrifying).  The potluck dinners were nice, though.

At home we had a tree and stockings for me and the dog and cat at Christmas, but when I wanted to get a manger scene, my mother said, “We don’t do that.”  The church had a Christmas Eve service and sang carols, but it was more like a hootenanny.

Julie, my college roommate, was the daughter of an Episcopal priest and when I went home with her one weekend, of course she had to go to church and I went with her.  I was fascinated.  Back at school, I started going to the Episcopal church.  Everyone was very nice and the church ladies made a big fuss over me, which I ate up. (My mother was not a fusser).  I got to know Father Bill and his family and by the next visit by the Bishop I’d been baptized and was ready to be confirmed.
My parents didn’t come to either service because I didn’t tell them.  By that time I was dating Ed and he gave me a beautiful cross and took me out for a fancy lunch.

When my parents found out, my father snorted about “a ridiculous phase.”  My mother told her Unitarian friends that she was too embarrassed to tell my grandparents and they told her that at least it was only “intellectual drugs” and not the illegal kind.    I wrote in my diary that I “identified” with all those Christians who had been “persecuted for their faith.”  (What can I say?  I was nineteen.)

So I always said I would never give the children a hard time if they weren’t happy with the Episcopal Church.

Then Cilla decided she wanted to be a Catholic.

Obladee, Obladah

I’m glad they found a replacement for Margaret.  Her desk was haunting me.  And everybody was getting more work. My new co-worker's name is Anne.  Her husband is in the Engineering Department and her children are about the same ages as mine.  We’ve been having lunch together and today we went out to get Batman motif things for her son’s birthday.

Maybe we’ll never find out what happened and in ten years or so I’ll be on Cold Case Files as “Charlotte McDonald, Friend and Co-Worker”.  Karen’s hoping that something will turn up, love letters or a confession “to be opened in the event of my death.”

It doesn’t seem right that the loss of anyone in such an awful way should just fizzle out.

But as Nikki says, “Yes, it’s horrible, but you didn’t kill her.”

And what else am I supposed to feel?

So every day I say a prayer for Margaret and her family.  It’s not much, but at least it’s something and it’s all I can do. 

Pilgrimage

People are getting tired of the murder;  there haven’t been any new developments.  I keep thinking I should be doing something, like the soccer moms or sweet little old ladies in my mystery books. 

Karen, Nikki, and I rode by Margaret’s house, a small bungalow a few blocks from the library. They’d taken the crime scene tape down, if it had ever been up.   It seemed odd that she would buy a house since she was single.  “How did she get the money?” Nikki asked.  “Maybe she was a spy.  Or she’d been blackmailing somebody for years.  Or several somebodies.”

“Or she had a sugardaddy.  And he got tired of it,” I said.  “But I can’t imagine her doing it or even making out.”

“You know what they say about the quiet ones.  They’re wild in the sack.  She probably got loud, too.”

“Karen!”  I was shocked.  Then I had to laugh.  Then I got embarrassed picturing Margaret in that situation.

We didn’t get to go to the grave because even though the name of the cemetery had been in the obituary, there wouldn’t be a marker and we wouldn’t be able to find it.

So we went to Friendly’s.  I had the fish and chips.  It came with a free sundae.

Easter Come with joy to meet the Lord, but check your pants first.

Still cold, but at least the sun’s out.  We had a delicious breakfast of hard boiled eggs (Cilla wanted to know why the insides of the eggs were still white.), bunny ears, and jelly beans.  We all like to wait until the Peeps get hard and crunchy (with shreds of Easter grass stuck to them).

We looked like a model family as we filed into church, until Josh took his jacket off and his shirttail was out.  When I tried to tuck it in, he said, “Mom, why are you putting your hand in my pants?”  Of course, he didn’t whisper. 

So I had to say just as loudly, “I’m just fixing your shirt.”

He said “Stop, you’re tickling me.”  Cilla was giggling and Betsey looked pained.  Ed was busy reading the Bulletin.  I looked over and saw that his fly was open.  I finished with Josh, reached across the girls and tapped him on the shoulder.  Then I discretely pointed at his crotch.  He looked puzzled, then shocked, like he thought I wanted to have sex with him.

Fortunately he was able to zip up before the processional.

Alleluia!

Easter Eve “Vanity saith the preacher, all is vanity.”

It’s supposed to be a cold Easter again.  The girls are complaining about having to wear coats over their new dresses.  I told them to offer it up.  Betsey pointed out that Lent would be over by Easter.  I said, “Well, pray that it warms up.”  I am not up to a theological debate with a ten-year-old.

March 17 Random March Madness

Josh discovered the old custom of pinching people who don’t wear green on St. Patrick’s Day.  Fortunately he didn’t get caught at school.  I could imagine his getting suspended and my having to decide whether Ed and I would go on the evening news as outraged parents whose child was being unfairly punished.  As they say in England, they’ll suspend your kid before you can say knife.  (I don’t know what this means, exactly, but they say it a lot in my English mystery books.)

Josh and Cilla both got me, but Ed had worn a green tie to work, so he was safe.  I told them that if they did it again, they would be severely punished (before they could say knife) and that I would tell their Dad.  I don’t like to be too specific, since I never know how much discipline I’ll be up to enforcing.

We had spinach lasagna, salad, peas, and orange soda (in honor of Northern Ireland) for dinner, with mint chocolate chip ice cream for dessert, along with Irish potato candies (butter, confectioner's sugar, and coconut rolled in little balls like potatoes and then rolled in cinnamon).