MEMORIES MONDAY. The Beginning

Welcome to Memories Monday!  This is how it all began.

January’s Over!

February 11:  I’m so glad January’s over.  Not that February is anything to write home about.  But at least there’s Valentine’s Day.  Today my co-worker Margaret and I ran out to the mall at lunch.  I got the girls shirts with hearts and a Spiderman t-shirt for Josh.  At least it’s red.  Maybe I can find some silly things in the dollar store. 

Margaret just sends cards to her niece and nephew.  (Isn’t it funny how English doesn’t have a gender neutral word for one’s sibling’s children?  Or one’s siblings for that matter.  Of course that’s never been a problem for me, having only a half-sister.)  But Margaret gives them each ten dollars!  We got back just in time and had to eat our lunch on our break. 

Anyway, I have to take the kids out tonight to get something for Ed.  Maybe a red tie or red socks or boxers with hearts.  That way, they can remind him to take them out to get something for me.  It’s not that I want anything, but it would be embarrassing if I had something for him and he didn’t have anything for me.

Valentine’s Day is Sunday.  I promised to bring something for Coffee Hour and I think I’ll make cupcakes and put Valentine sprinkles on them.  Maybe they even have little candy hearts.  I can get some conversation hearts, too, and put them on some.  (My friend Karen told me that she saw some dirty conversation hearts in the fancy candy store.  Maybe I should get a bag for Ed.  But what if I got them mixed up and put them on the church cupcakes?  Karen says I have the mind of a situation comedy writer.  Maybe she’s right.)

Dear Reader, I don’t know what you think of this, but I’m having fun.  Let me know.

A SPECIAL BONUS POST FOR THE FIRST MEMORIES MONDAY

 

February 13 A Terrible Thing Has Happened!

A terrible thing has happened!  Margaret was stabbed to death in her own house.  I was making the cupcakes for church when I heard it on the radio.  Fortunately Ed had taken the kids out shopping.

If a casting director had wanted a perfect librarian, he or she would have found her in Margaret.  She was in her fifties, had never married and was a Republican and a Methodist. She dyed her hair but wore it short.  Her clothes were nice enough, suits and dresses that looked expensive.  Not that I would know for sure.  We’d worked together for years, but had never progressed to the point of talking about how much things cost. 

Mostly we talked about books.  I had never had anyone I could talk about Dickens with or who understood when I said I had a “love-hate relationship with Jane Austen.”

I feel like I’m in one of those mystery novels in which everyone keeps saying, “How could this happen here?” 

I called Karen, and she said, “Almost in the family.”  I guess it is.

Memories Monday, An Introduction

Dear Readers,

Are you puzzled by some of the things going on?

Would you like to know what happened earlier?

Would you like to reread some of your favorite posts?

If so, welcome to Memories Monday!!!!!!

Every Monday, you can read an old post from Meet the McDonalds, starting from the beginning.

Later on in the week, you can read Charlie’s latest entry. 

Something is always happening and Charlie always has something to say about it.

To get started, here is the introduction, even though it isn’t Monday

 

Meet the McDonalds

Soon to Be America’s Favorite Fictional Family

A new genre?

I got tired of submitting stories, waiting to hear from the publishers, and then being rejected.  I’ve written several stories about the McDonalds, a typical small college town family.  I wondered what they (particularly Charlotte, the mom) would have to say in a blog.

So Charlotte will be blogging about the McDonalds (with my help, of course).

Here they are:

Charlotte (known to everyone as Charlie): a former English major who hadn’t wanted to teach (or, as she herself would admit, do much else besides get married and have children).  She works in the college library and still loves to read.  She is a devout Episcopalian;  this started in college as rebellion against her Unitarian parents, but she is, as she would say, “really into it.”

She’ll tell you about everyone else,

This will not be in real time.  When one story ends another may begin years earlier or later, depending on my imagination.

But to begin:

February 10:  Old English majors never die.  They end up editing church newsletters and knowing all the answers to the literature questions on Jeopardy.  I never burned to Write, but I thought it might be fun to keep a diary, a record of the family.  Then I thought, “Why not a blog?  That way I can share it.  Maybe even make money!!!!”  Of course I’ll be careful; no dirty secrets of the McDonalds.  Actually, we don’t have any.

So I bought a copy of Blogging for Dummies, and here I am.

My name is Charlotte McDonald, but everyone calls me Charlie.  I work in a college library.  In my spare time, (such as it is) I read.  Most of the time, I go to work or do Mom things.

I met my husband Ed in college when he had a beard.  He love computers and baseball.

Our children are:

Betsey (the second “e” is in honor of Betsey Trotwood, David Copperfield’s aunt), our oldest child. Betsey is ironically reserved, surveying the antics of her siblings (and her mother and her friends) sometimes with amusement and sometimes mortification.

Joshua, two years younger than Betsey,  is the least complicated of the children.  You just need to feed him, let him run around, and laugh at his jokes.

Priscilla (Cilla) is two years younger than Josh, an intense but cuddly drama princess.

Duke the Labradoodle and Nigel the cat

 

A Puzzling Conversation

The Easter service was very nice.  Unlike last year, Josh’s shirt stayed tucked in and Ed remembered to zip his pants.  But something weird happened afterward.

I had everyone over for Easter dinner.  Kate says she feels like a rock star who just got back from a world tour after Holy Week, so we let her sit and wait on her, while Janet helps me in the kitchen.  I don’t know how restful it is to have kids fighting over who will sit by you and have the youngest one in your lap, but she seems to enjoy it.

I was in the den getting something, when I noticed my father talking to her.  Usually he and Ed talk about sports and look for games on TV.  “You know, Kate, for a minister you really are pretty sensible.”

Before Kate could say thank you, he said, “Don’t you think you could do better for yourself?  Oh, I don’t mean a man,” he said hastily.  “I mean better than Janet.”

Kate sighed like a mother who has just been told for the hundredth time that her kid doesn’t like peas.  “Why do you have such a problem with Janet?  I think she’s nice.”  Sometimes it’s hard to tell when Kate is being ironic.

“She allowed her son to marry Charlie when she was just out of college.  And she keeps saying she prays for me.”

“I told her that if she does she won’t find you so annoying.  I don’t think it’s working yet, though.”

“She probably isn’t trying hard enough.”

“I’ll speak to her about it.” I couldn’t believe that Kate was teasing my father.  I don’t know if he was getting it.

“You know, Missy is heartbroken and feels guilty because of that mess.  I told her that Janet feels she did her a favor.”

“I certainly hope so.”

“Can you talk to her?”

“Missy?”

“No, your wife.”

“I prefer ‘life partner,’ since wives have always been treated so badly.”

“Well, can you?”

“Well, it would be healing, and I can’t refuse to promote healing. . . Does this make me a wing person?”

“Good one, Katie.”

It’s been six months since my father talked to Missy at the wedding.  Has he been talking to her since then?  Fortunately she’s married, so I don’t have to worry about whether she’ll have a problem with staying with the kids while we go to the midnight service on Christmas Eve.

Bunnies and Chickens and Lambs, Oh My!

Unitarian Easter is not a big deal, although my cousins and I dyed eggs, we had an egg hunt at church, and my parents gave me a basket every year until I had Betsey, when they gave her a basket.  I always made baskets for the dog and cat.

My friends got new dresses, but as my mother pointed out, it was usually too cold for spring dresses and they had to wear coats.  I wore my “nice pants” (the ones that weren’t jeans – my mother was old fashioned that way) and whatever shirt was clean.

My grandmother or one of my aunts would have everyone over for dinner. One year, I found a lamb made of butter holding a red plastic flag and sitting in a bed of green Easter grass at the grocery store and begged my mother to let me take it to the dinner.

She said, “All right, but let’s not tell Daddy.”

I asked why and she looked uncomfortable.  “Let’s make it a surprise.”

My cousins loved the lamb, even after I told them it was butter and not white chocolate, and my grandmother kissed me and told me it was beautiful

The others weren’t so enthusiastic.

My father snorted and Uncle Hank said it was meaningless superstition.  Then my grandfather, who had been raised an Episcopalian, but had broken his parents’ hearts by becoming an atheist in college, said that Those People didn’t think it was meaningless;  the lamb represented Jesus, who supposedly was killed for everyone’s sins so they wouldn’t go to Hell.  He started singing “Oh Lamb of God/Sweet Lamb of God . . . Oh, wash me in your precious blood . . .”  Jessica wailed, “Oh, the poor lamb!” and Jennifer started crying.

Aunt Pooh stepped in and said that even though it was almost dinner time, we could each have one piece of candy.  Jennifer wiped her eyes and said, “How about two?”

We did get two pieces and no one’s appetite was spoiled.  The lamb stayed on the table, but every year after that my mother went food shopping by herself around Easter.

“Lamb of God” is one of my favorite hymns, although some priests don’t use it for fear it will scare off newcomers.  Cilla loves to sing it around the house, although Betsey says she is a big moron who doesn’t understand what it means.

Father Josh Lends a Hand . . . From Charlie's Diary

Saturday:  Betsey still isn’t going to Sunday School, but she has stopped talking about her grievances.  She may be waiting to be asked to go.  I’m going to bring it up next week.  Maybe we can have a Discussion. 

Sunday:  Today, after we got home from church, Josh said, “Aidan asked where you’d been today.”  Aidan is a boy in Betsey’s class.

First she looked panicky.  “What did you tell him?”

Josh shrugged.  “I just said, ‘My mom says she’s rebelling.’  Then we got some cookies.” 

I don’t know where he got the bit about rebelling.  I didn’t say that.  But lately Josh has been coming up with more than “Good one” or “No way, Jose.”  I waited for Betsey to start scolding me that this was all my fault, but she hadn’t really noticed.  She had a look in her eyes, like she was interested.

“What else did he say?”

“He said he was going to play softball this spring.”

“No, I mean about me.”

“Nothing.”

“Are you sure?”

“Well, he said, ‘Your mom must be really cool not to make her go.’”

Then I got interested.  “What did you say?” I asked.

“I said, ‘Yeah, she’s OK.’”

I guess a parent’s wishy-washy is a kid’s really cool.  I’ll take it.

Cilla worried that Ed’s feelings might be hurt.  “You’re cool too, Daddy.”

“Thank you.  I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about me.”

Well, if it takes a boy to get her back to Sunday School, I’ll take that, too.  I’d really like some closure about the pigs, but you can’t have everything.