Emily's Progress on the Road to True Love

 

Emily’s still getting together with us on Fridays, since she hasn’t met anyone yet.

“I tried the Unitarians, but there were all these middle-aged guys who had just been dumped or left their wives and were trying to prove how cool they were.  I didn’t even tell them I was a Lesbian.  It just would have encouraged them.”

She had had a little better luck with Epiphany, Kate’s church. “Everyone was very welcoming, but all the women seemed to be in couples.”

“Well, maybe they have friends they’re trying to fix up.  And you never know.  Not all relationships are as wonderful as they seem.”

I felt very sophisticated and worldly saying this, and then I remembered that “worldly” isn’t usually a compliment.

“Maybe Janet can talk to someone and find out what’s up.  She loves that sort of thing.”

Then we got down to the real business.  Missy gave me a double fondue pot for Christmas, and I’d made cheese and chocolate fondues.

Move Over, Miss Woodhouse

 

 

You can’t find a cup of pumpkin spice tea or anything else anywhere, although there are plenty of eggnog and candy cane lattes.  I don’t have to mentally block out the Christmas decorations at the mall.  I may even watch a Christmas movie on the Hallmark channel, and I’ll address the Christmas cards while I do.

Emily came to her first Girls’ Night In at Karen’s.  She brought a bottle of wine and cookies shaped like turkeys and cornucopias.

“How was Thanksgiving?”

“Well, the food was delicious and my nieces and nephews were fun.  But  . . . well, you know.”

“Did your parents give you a hard time?”  Emily is gay.

“Oh, they’re cool with my ‘Lifestyle,’ as my mother says.  My father keeps asking me when I’m going to meet a nice girl, and my mother says, ‘Woman, Bruce.  Emily needs to meet a nice woman!  You make her sound like a damn pedophile.’  She really tries, bless her heart.   

“This year she took me aside for a Real Serious Talk.  She said, ‘Honey are you sure you’re gay?  Maybe it’s the Reverse Katharine Hepburn Syndrome.’”

“What’s that?” Karen asked.

“That’s what I said.  She said, ‘You know how everyone knew Katharine Hepburn was a Lesbian except Katharine Hepburn?  Maybe everyone knows you’re straight but you.  I don’t care one way or the other.  I just want you to be happy.’”

“Where did she hear about that?”

“She read this short story about a straight woman who tries to help her Lesbian friend find somebody.  And they end up together.  It’s called ‘Reversing Katharine Hepburn.’  It’s pretty funny.”

We must have looked concerned because she said, “But don’t worry.  I don’t want to break up anybody’s marriage.”

That was a relief, but later I wondered if Emily was just being kind and the real reason we didn’t need to worry was that we didn’t do anything for her sexually.  But, I told myself, we would always be friends.

“What do you think is the problem?”

 “For years I was really too busy to seriously get involved or even look, but now that I’m back in business so to speak, I don’t have any customers.”

“Have you tried yoga classes or women’s support groups?” Nikki asked.

“Or church?  I can ask Kate if there are any prospects at Epiphany.  Or the Unitarian Church;  people were always hooking up at my old church.”

 I didn’t add that they were also unhooking, but that was a minor point.

“Meeting people isn’t the problem.  I’ve met women and we go to the movies or a concert or something, but when they ask me in for coffee, all I get is coffee.”

“Have you tried asking them in for coffee?”

“Yes.  And that’s all they want.  But we’ll go to the movies again or get together for lunch.  It’s not that they don’t like me.  At least I don’t think it is.”

This was beyond all of us.  If a man asked you to the movies and you invited him in for coffee, you knew what was coming.  Not that I’d had any experience, since I got married so young,  But I read.

Then I got an idea.

I never really liked Emma Woodhouse, but perhaps I can do her job more efficiently.  “Maybe we can help.  We must know some women you haven’t met.  But it will have to be after the holidays.  In the meantime, you can start going to church.  I have to warn you that Epiphany won’t be Christmassy until Christmas Eve.  With the Unitarians you never know.  You can try both if you want.”

“Well, I might as well.  I’ll tell my parents that I have some friends who are matchmaking for me.  That should hold them until the new year.”  Then she looked concerned.  “Do you think I might need a makeover?  Do you think I’m clueless?” 

Nikki took charge.  “Of course not.  Anyway, we’re not the ones to ask.  But we’ll find someone to ask if necessary.”

January is so boring.  It will be nice to have a project.

 

Memories Monday -- The Fortunate Consequences of Too Much Information

Ever since gay marriage became legal in our state, the kids (well, Betsey and Cilla) have been after Janet and Kate to get married.  Janet’s excuse was that she didn’t want to live in the Rectory, even though she seems to be there all the time.

But now, after all the publicity has made it clear that Janet and Kate are a couple, the church ladies at Epiphany have been taking them aside and whispering, “Don’t you think you should get married, dear?”  One of the teenage girls told Kate that she had to set an example.  Naturally, Kate couldn’t bring out the old “it’s just a piece of paper” argument, since it’s part of her job to refute this whenever a couple brings it up.

So it looks like I’m going to be the mother of the brides, or at least one of them.  Ed’s sister Allison lives 600 miles away and she and Janet have what I call a “prickly” relationship.  Ed has stronger words for it.

“How does she feel about Kate?”  Nikki asked me when I told her and Karen about it.

“Well, whenever she talks to her mother on the phone, she asks how ‘Pastor Parker’ is, which she knows isn’t right.  A priest is either Father, Mother, Dr., Mr. Mrs., Ms., Miss or first name.  At family stuff, she talks to her, but doesn’t call her anything.”

“I never knew what to call Tom’s mother, so I haven’t called her anything for fifteen years” Karen said.  “I don’t think she’s noticed.”

“Plus, she never forgave her mother for the divorce,” I added.

“But I thought he left her for another woman.” 
               

“He did, and that’s why Ed can’t figure it out.”  (Frankly, I think the only time it occurred to Ed to try to figure it out was when I asked him about it.)

“Allison is unconsciously afraid that because her mother couldn’t hold onto her husband, she won’t be able to either,” Nikki explained.  “And she takes it out on her.  Not to mention the classic mother-daughter rivalry.”

Ed said he was relieved to have everything clarified when I explained it to him.

 

Memories Monday -- Who needs a therapist when you have friends?

“Are you sure you should be drinking that?” Karen asked me last night.  Nikki had been feeling creative and had made some whipped chocolate vodka martinis.

“Very funny,” I said.

Naturally, Nikki didn’t understand, so Karen explained her theory that my being so conflicted about Cilla’s wanting to become Catholic was that I was really upset about “the Baby” getting older and becoming independent and that I was probably going to get pregnant.

Nikki nodded.  “You’re such a nurturer, Charlie.  And since you were virtually an only child, which you hated, you’re unconsciously trying to give yourself that big family you always wanted as well as saying f—you to your parents.”

Neither of my friends has a degree in psychology, although they both had courses in college and they watch Dr. Phil and Dr. Drew.

Actually, that sounded reasonable.  But sad.  Very sad.  But that might have been the martinis.

I must have looked sad, because Karen put her arm around me.  “Do you have any happy memories of your childhood?”

But Nikki was more interested in my religious experiences.  Had I had any friends who had had First Communions?

“Not really.  What Catholics there were went to Catholic school.  I always thought they were exotic.  And I loved the uniforms.  And I’d even thought I wanted to be a nun, until I saw The Nun’s Story on TV and saw they had to scrub floors and hit themselves with little whips.”

Then I remembered.  It was a Saturday morning and my father was driving me to karate class.  I saw a little girl about my age, all dressed up like a bride.  She looked beautiful and so happy.  I remembered she had white shoes (without straps) with sparkly bows on them and socks with lace.

“Look at her, Daddy,” I said, all excited.  “Why is she dressed like that?”

My father snorted and said it was Catholic nonsense dressing kids up like damn Barbie dolls.  He didn’t say anything else, so I thought I shouldn’t either.

I told Nikki and Karen, and they said I had suppressed it because it was so painful.  Karen said that I had been deprived of the God experience as a child, which was symbolized by the happy little girl going to church in a pretty dress.

“And don’t forget the veil,” Nikki added.  “The veil makes the First Communion.”

We all nodded very learnedly.

I felt awful the next morning, but it was worth to have a psychological epiphany.

By the way, Saturday Night Live sent me my Too Much Information Award.  It’s a certificate with a 1950’s picture of a nurse with a finger to her lips saying “Ssssh.”

Thanks, guys!

 

Memories Monday -- The Cost of Catharsis

I thought our friends and family would enjoy the story about Cilla and Fr. Barryfitzgerald and I’d get some catharsis, but it snowballed or mushroomed or exploded or whatever.  It had everything  -- a spunky child, a mean priest, feminism, theology, and Lesbians.  The paper was flooded with letters and emails.  

Then other papers, especially the tabloids, picked it up. The headlines were very creative, “Right Back at You, Father!”  “Gay Grandma Not Going to Hell”, “Christian Mom Forgives Priest.  Really?”  The more serious papers wrote editorials about the decline of religion and the decay of the church and permissive parenting.  I kept cutting things out for the scrapbook.

Saturday Night Live gave me the “Too Much Information” award.  Ed said we could put it on the mantel.  I don’t think they really send you anything, though. 

We even got some mentions in other blogs:  Bad Catholic, Telling Secrets, Woodstock Churchlady and Clergy Confidential.

I was afraid the kids would get flack at school, but thanks to the decline of religion and decay of the church, the other children really didn’t care.  I was afraid it would spoil Cilla’s friendship with Veronica, but Veronica said that nobody liked Father Barryfitzgerald anyway and my friend Angela told me that he was always drunk at the Christmas Eve Mass.

Things eventually calmed down.  After all, slow news seasons don’t last forever.

Memories Monday -- Sleeping Arrangements

I asked Ed, “If my father gets married, do you think his new wife will want to come over on Christmas Eve?  What if she has children and they always have their dinner then?”  My father always stays overnight with us on Christmas Eve so Ed and I can go to the midnight service.

“Jesus Christ, Charlie.”

 “He didn’t mean that, God.”

“I can repent by myself, thank you.”

“Well . . .”

“Well, what?””   

“God’s waiting.”

“How much did you and the girls have to drink?”

“I didn’t keep count, since I didn’t have to drive.   But anyway, what do you think?”

“About what?”

"What we’ll do if my father gets married again and he can’t come here Christmas Eve.”

“Charlie . . . your father isn’t engaged.  He isn’t even dating.”  I don’t know why Ed keeps sighing whenever we have conversations in bed.

“Nikki says he must be having sex, since he was so pleasant.  He did seem happier.”

“Well, if he’s dating, it may not be just one person.  And even if it is, he probably wouldn’t get engaged for a year or so.  And then it might take a while to get married.”

“But if they’re engaged, they’d have to spend Christmas Eve together.”  Then I had a disturbing thought.  “What if they’re engaged and they want to sleep together?  I couldn’t let them do that with the children here.”

“ One of them could take the guest room and he could sleep in Josh's room or she could sleep with one of the girls."

“Do you think one of them would sleep on the air mattress?”

“I thought English majors got sarcasm.”

“Of course, by that time, Betsey may be old enough to babysit the others.  But she may want to go to the service and it wouldn’t be fair not to take her.”

“We can pay her.”

"But it's so nice to have everybody together.”

“Tell that to your father’s fiancée.”

“But if she has a dinner, she’ll want us to come.  We’d have to go, too.”

“Maybe it will be fun.”

“Or maybe she always does her dinner the Saturday before Christmas, so her children can go to their in-laws’ Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.  That would be great.”

“Explain all this to you father and tell him that if she won’t watch the kids Christmas Eve, that has to be a deal breaker.”

I was about to fall asleep when I remembered something.  “Did you tell God you’re sorry for swearing?”

“I’m going to right now.  In fact, He’s going to get quite an earful,”

“That’s good.”  Then I did fall asleep.  It’s lucky we have an air mattress.

The Best Christmas Ever -- As Usual

  

Christmas was as beautiful and as much fun as ever.  Somehow, in spite of the pre-Christmas craziness, everything always turns out all right in the end.  It’s like having a baby; you forget the morning sickness and labor pains until the next one comes along.

We managed to solve the problem of Christmas Eve with Missy and my father.  Actually, I called Janet and asked her to speak to Missy, and she got Kate to do it.  “If I do, it will seem bourgeois, but a priest can get away with it.”  So I guess my being uncomfortable about my father and his girlfriend having the same bedroom in my house probably makes me worse than bourgeois, but I tell myself this is part of my charm. 

Josh graciously offered my father the top bunk, but he said, thanks, but he might fall out, which would put a crimp in the festivities.

The next morning, Missy said it had been decades since she had gotten up with children on Christmas and almost started to cry.

They left around noon, because they were going to Missy’s daughter Rachael’s for dinner at two o’clock and then to her son Mike’s for dinner at five.  Missy said it was like having to visit both sets of parents when she was young, except this time she didn’t have to bring all the bottles and diapers and baby gear.

The kids were disappointed that they wouldn’t be here for Christmas dinner, but my father promised to come over the next day for leftovers.

Cilla wasn’t too pleased, but I told her that in England, the day after Christmas was called Boxing Day, and everybody got together to eat leftovers and put whatever was left over after that in boxes for the poor. Then she and Josh started boxing.

When I told Karen and Nikki about Missy sleeping in the guest room and my father in Josh’s room, Nikki wondered if maybe my father had come in for a visit.

I was shocked.  “He wouldn’t do that.  And anyway, we would have heard.”

“His sneaking in or what went on after that?”

“Nikki!”

Karen said, “You’d be surprised how quiet you can be.”

“How do you know?”

“Tom used to come stay at my house during vacations.  He slept in my brother’s room, but he would sneak into mine.  Fortunately, my sister was married and out of the house.”

“My mother tried so hard to be cool and with it,” Nikki giggled.  “She put Helmut in the guest room and asked if I wanted to stay there too.  I was so embarrassed, I turned red.  She said, ‘Oh, Nicole, grow up!’”

“What happened?”

“I slept in my room and told Helmut I would sneak in, but he said that wouldn’t be right.  He can be old fashioned sometimes.”

“Life was so much simpler then,” Karen sighed.  “You worried about your grades and when you were going to get a chance to do it.  We never thought to worry about getting pregnant because you were either on the pill or you were just too clueless to understand that it might happen.”

“I had one friend who was very quiet,” Nikki said.  “Her name was Margie.  Well, everybody thought that two quiet people were a good match because they would understand each other.  But it’s not true.  Things just get too quiet.  But she hooked up with this guy who was quiet too, but he was cute, handsome really.  They got married, but it only lasted about two years.  I asked her what happened and she said they didn’t have anything to say to each other.  I asked her why she hadn’t noticed that when they were dating and she said they were too busy making out.”

“Did she have a nice wedding?”

“It was lovely.  It had an open bar and a sit-down dinner, with shrimp cocktail with giant shrimp for an appetizer.  She looked beautiful, too.  She had an autumn rainbow wedding; the bridesmaids wore different fall colors.  It was kind of retro, but it worked.”

“Well, at least she had one happy day.  What happened to her after that?”

“She married a guy who never shut up.  But he was even handsomer than the other one.  They have five kids.  He probably kept talking while they were having sex.  But she’s very happy.”

“That’s what’s important,” Karen said, and we all nodded and toasted Margie.