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.

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.