Salvation and Career Choices from Charlie's diary

Betsey still isn’t going to church or Sunday School.  No one has asked about her, but I’ve been hiding out in kitchen at Coffee Hour, where everyone is too busy gossiping to notice.

But we had a breakthrough.  We were having dinner and Josh said, “I think it was mean of Jesus to kill those pigs.”

Cilla shrieked, “Don’t say that Josh!   You’ll go to Hell and I’ll miss you!”

Betsey sneered, “What makes you think you’re going to Heaven?”

Cilla looked panicky.  “I’m going to Heaven, aren’t I Mommy?”

“Of course you are. We’re all going.”  Then I changed the subject.

“You know, in Heaven you can eat whatever you want.  And you never have to go to bed.”

This impressed them and probably sounded so good that they didn’t want to spoil things by asking how I knew.

Then Cilla had an idea.  “I’m going to pray to the Blessed Virgin Mother that God forgives Betsey and Josh.”

“That’s very nice of you,” I said, ”but why don’t you ask Jesus?”

“I couldn’t do that.  If He knew Betsey was mad at him, His feelings would be hurt.”

“You know, Josh said, “I’m mad at Jesus, but I still love Him.  Like when Mommy got so mad at Daddy she threw a pillow at him.”

Not one of my prouder moments, but I was trying to get his attention during the Super Bowl.  I forget about what.

“And I forgave her,” Ed put in.

“Very gracious of you.”

“I know.”

“The point I’m trying to make here,” Josh continued, (He got that from my father, except he let out  the  “damn it.”)  “is that Jesus knows we get mad at Him, but it’s OK.  He forgives us.  Just think of all the stuff we do that makes Him mad.”

Betsey looked like she wanted to believe him.  But of course she couldn’t admit it.  “Who are you, Father Josh?”

I started adding in my head: four years of college, three of seminary.  But it’s a long way off.

Josh laughed.  “No way, Jose!  I want to be a paleontologist.”

That’s college, master’s degree and doctorate.  And the job prospects are even worse than for clergy.

Well, it is a long way off.

A Walk on the Wild Side (Or as Close as I'll Ever Get)

Last night I asked Ed if I could pass at a Lesbian bar.

“What put that in your head?”

“Oh, we were just talking.”  I didn’t have to say who “we” were.

“Why would you want to do that?”

“It’s good to get out and see the world and expand your horizons.”

Ed snorted.  “There’s plenty to see without going to some bar, where you’d have to drive home.”

“Oh, one of us could be the designated driver.  I’d do it myself.”  I wouldn’t want to have a buzz on and miss anything, but I didn’t tell Ed that.

“If the three of you went together, people might think you were a ménage a trois.”

I hadn’t thought of that.  What if someone wanted to make it a ménage a quatre?  We’d have to say that one of us had a problem with that, which would be bourgeois and prudish.  We’d argue about who would be the bourgeois one.  (It would probably be me, especially since I wouldn’t be drinking.)

“If you want to have a Lesbian experience, go visit my mother.”

“Ed!  We’re both married!”

“I didn’t mean it that way.  I just meant you can absorb the ambiance over there.”

“That’s pretty fancy talk for an accountant.”

“Well, you can’t talk dirty to a churchlady.”

I did go over to the rectory (which Kate calls “delightfully retro,” to which Janet adds “like an outhouse.”)  Janet wasn’t around, but I did ask Kate about her bar experiences.  Before she was a priest, she was a community organizer and a state lobbyist.  She says the bars were where you got the most lobbying done and the Lesbian bars were where she and her friends went to get back to the real world.

“Well, basically, it’s like a straight bar.  The people you like don’t call you and the ones you gave your number to to avoid hurting their feelings do.  One time someone threw up on my shoes.  Fortunately, they were hiking boots.”

“Were you on a camping trip?”

“No, Charlie.  Sometime when Janet’s here we’ll explain it all to you.  I can’t handle it by myself.”

“That would be great!”

Kate started to get that therapist look in her eye.  “You’re not worrying about anything, are you?”

“Oh, no.  It’s just that I’ve never been to any bar.  At college we drank in our rooms or at fraternity parties.  Then I got married.”

Kate laughed.  “Oh my gosh, you really are an innocent. I always thought Janet was in denial.”

She put her arm around me.  “Well, you didn’t miss anything.”

Ed got me these horsehead squirrel feeders for Valentine's Day,  I got him socks with hearts.

Hard Drinking Detectives

It’s been a year since Margaret was murdered.  There have been a few leads, but nothing has really happened.  I’ve been looking at the staff pictures in old yearbooks to see if anyone looked like William Powell or Anthony Hopkins, who were her favorite actors (See Move Over, Miss Marple, August 4, 2013),  but I haven’t had much luck. 

Karen has been talking to the old ladies at the Methodist church.  “I asked them if Margaret had grown up in the church, and they said she came about twenty years ago.  They said she was ‘a very nice girl,’ but Marian, who is the biggest gossip, said that there was always something about her that you couldn’t put your finger on.  That could have her imagination after the fact, but I kind of doubt it.  Those old ladies are shrewd.”

Nikki snorted.  “Do they think you’re a nice girl?”

“Well, I am,” Karen said and took another sip of wine.  “Of course, Methodists don’t drink.”

“Are you going to quit drinking or quit the church?  The Episcopalians don’t have a problem with it.”

“No, I just won’t let them see me.  If I left, I’d feel like those spies who make friends with people they’re spying on when they really don’t like them and may end up killing them.  It wouldn’t be honest.”

I didn’t point out that maybe not letting people see you drink wasn’t honest.  I’d had two glasses of wine already and I didn’t think I could argue logically.

“Well,” Nikki said, “I stopped in at the liquor store in her neighborhood.  I didn’t expect anything, but the woman and I got to talking about what kind of wine to get, and I mentioned that I was going to have a dinner party, but it would be a little sad, because just a year ago, my friend Margaret had been murdered.”

I was impressed. “That’s really creative.”

“Thank you.  So the lady said, ‘Oh, yes, she used to come in here.  Very nice lady, but quiet.’  I asked her what she liked.  I guess as one of her friends I should have known, but she didn’t notice.  She said she liked wine and she sometimes got scotch.”

“So . . . “ I said, “she got that for her friend, so it probably was a man.  Women don’t like scotch.”  I felt relieved, since I don’t like scotch.

“You never know,” Nikki said.  “Maybe Lesbians aren’t so wussy.  But at least you’re in the clear.”

“Why don’t you ask Janet and Kate if any of their friends drink scotch?”

I sighed.  “You know, Karen,  every gay person in the world does not know every other gay person in the world or even in history.  Gay people get that all the time.”  I felt very worldly, and I threw in “And they find it very annoying,” even though I didn’t know that for sure.

“You’re lucky that she told you.  Liquor store clerks may have to sign confidentiality pledges.”

Then Karen got an idea.  “Maybe we could go to a Lesbian bar and get to talking.  Maybe someone might know Margaret.”

“First of all,” I said, “I don’t where any Lesbian bars are.  And second, I don’t think we could pass.  They might think . . . I don’t know what they’d think, but it wouldn’t be a nice thing to do.”

Nikki snorted again.  “Listen to you, the big sophisticated liberal.  You’re just afraid someone would hit on you.”

“No, I’m not!  I would just say I was in a relationship and change the subject.”

“Maybe you’re afraid no one would hit on you, and you’d feel rejected.”

By that time we had to go look for another box of Girl Scout cookies and some more Valentine candy, so I didn’t have to answer.  I was relieved about that, too.

 

What do the McDonalds say?

Charlie’s been blogging and writing in her diary for a year and a half.  Since we can’t do a clip show, here are some recurring McDonald moments.

 

Charlie says, “Before you can say ‘knife.’”

Betsey says “Moron.”

Josh says, “No way, Jose.”

Cilla says, “Please, please, please.”

Kate says, “How do you feel about that?”

Janet says, “Bless her heart.”

Jack says, "Damn religious foolishness."

Karen says, “More wine?”

Nikki says, “Don’t be such a churchlady.”

Aunt Pooh says, “Let’s have a nice cup of tea.”

Emily  says, "Do I need a makeover?"

Alice says, "Terrific!"

Michele says,  "Charlotte . .  ."                       I  

What does Ed say? 

 

 Thanks to Ylvis for” What Does the Fox Say?”

Catch up with the action or relive favorite moments through the Archives.

Ed Weighs In (From Charlie's Diary)

Ed Googled “Jesus and pigs” and now he can’t figure out why Jesus did it.  And what about the owners of the herd?  That was their livelihood.  That wasn’t right.

I felt a certain satisfaction when he brought it up last night.  I’m usually the one who starts the discussions.  I didn’t comment on the validity of the question, partly because I’m too polite and also because it had occurred to me, too.

“Can you imagine what would happen today if someone did that to somebody’s business?”  he sputtered.

“They would have sued him before you could say knife.”

“Damn right.”

“Sorry, God.”

“Charlie, you don’t need to apologize to God for me.”

I didn’t say anything.

“All right.  I’m sorry, God.”

“I’m just surprised they didn’t take it to the Pharisees.  They would have loved it.”

“But the Pharisees wouldn’t have cared, because pigs were unclean anyway and the owners would have been Gentiles, who didn’t count.”

“But it would have been a chance to get Jesus.”

“Yeah, they missed an opportunity there.”

“Don’t mention that to Betsey.  She’ll be even more upset.”

Then Ed had an idea.  “Listen, Charlie.  Why don’t you go to Kate or Father Mike and tell them that you’re upset, because you are.  Then at least we’d have something to tell Betsey.”

“Why don’t you?”

“You’re more comfortable with clergy.”

“You’ve been a Christian longer than I have.”

I knew I’d have to be the one to do it.  But I was afraid I’d break down and say it was really Betsey.

Then I had a thought, “Don’t you remember anything about it?  After all those years in Sunday School?”

“I never paid attention.  I thought church was a bore.  By the time I got to college, I was practically an atheist.”

I was surprised to hear that. “But I met you at the college Episcopalian group.”

“Oh . . . well, I saw you around and I thought you were cute.  So I asked some people and somebody told me you went there.”

It was almost worth having the problem with Betsey to hear that.  But we still don’t know what to do.

Betsey's Rebellion, Part 3 (From Charlie's Diary)

Betsey has gone from feeling bad that she doesn’t like Jesus to being rebellious.  Fortunately, she isn’t questioning doctrine.  She just thinks Jesus is “mean.”  Cilla is very concerned and wants me to “please, please, please” call Kate.  I told her that we couldn’t tell anybody because Betsey had asked us not to.  Josh suggested that I could tell Kate I was asking for a friend.  I said that pastors get this a lot and can see through it.  Cilla said maybe Nikki could pretend it was her daughter and that she was embarrassed to talk to her own minister.  I said that not only would that be lying, but it would be getting another person to lie, which is even worse.

I always saw Betsey as the reserved, sensible child, but now I think she’s as intense as Cilla, but quiet about it, which can make a person even more intense.  I just don’t know how she’s going to get along in the world.