Protest -- Perhaps a Parable?

There was going to be a protest at the college. I don't know what it was about; there are so many things to make people mad. Janet and Missy were going, but I forgot to ask them.

Karen said she'd like to go, but Tom told her he was not going to watch the boys for that, although he would be happy to do it if she wanted to go, shopping; hey, why didn't she go to lunch first? I asked her if that wasn't sexist and she looked sheepish, “But he really feels strongly about not being political. It's part of his self image. Anyway, I'm not going to turn down an afternoon to myself. Where do you want to go to eat?”

Nikki said that if the girls wanted to go, she would take them, but she didn't think they would and Chinese would be fun.

I said Cilla was too young and Betsey and Josh probably made other plans. Or I could bring the girls to lunch and Ed could have some quality time with Josh.

I told Ed about how nice Tom had been, and I also told him why. “Of course, I wouldn't go anyway, but Karen was disappointed and I wanted to be supportive,”

“Jesus.”

I wanted to keep the drama so a minimum, so I let it go, although I wondered what Jesus would have done.

But then, He never organized a protest or march, as far as I know. But then, I'm not a theologian.

So we had a very nice lunch (I had mu shu pork), I got a new scarf (black with red poppies), and the girls got new shirts (Hello Kitty playing tennis for Cilla and Wonderwoman for Betsey).

Janet called and said the protest had been awesome. When I asked here what it had been about, she giggled and said there was so much going on with all the leaflets and signs and singing, she really couldn't say.

This is so Charlie!

 

 

 

Ed and I have a rule that no media is allowed during dinner, The kids fussed about missing calls, “And it might be an emergency, Mom, like Grandpa's fallen and he can't get up.”

I said, “If  he can call us, he can call 911. Whoever it is can leave a message.”

I didn't tell them that when I was young, we didn't have voicemail, since we got it when I was ten. I knew I'd get a cross examination, if not the Spanish Inquisition.

This is what it can lead to:

 

I asked Ed if he put the ketchup on top of the cheese in a cheeseburger, or if he turned it over and put it on the meat,

He said he put it on top and added, “What difference does it make?”

Me: “ I'm just making conversation. That's all I've got.”

Josh: “That's a very original question, Mom, It's interesting to hear how other people do things.” (Seminary, here he comes!) “I put it on top.”

Cilla wanted to know why.

Betsey: 'Because he's too lazy to turn the bun over.” (Betsey was having a grilled cheese sandwich to help save some poor cow's life. Cilla said I was “spoiling her.” I said it was to make up for all the times Betsey thought I was spoiling her. )

Josh: “But maybe it makes the meat taste better. Of course you could put it on both sides.” (And it's going to be an Episcopal seminary!)

Ed: “Why not mustard?” (I don't know if he wanted to join in or if he was being provocative. I didn't care. It was communication.)

Cilla: “McDonald's mixes ketchup, mustard, and mayonnaise! Eeew!”

Josh: ”Everyone's entitled to their own opinion.”

Cilla:” I bet if we asked that guy who trashes all those restaurants on television, he'd have an opinion.”

Betsey: “Why don't you write a letter and ask him?”

Cilla: “Maybe I will. It would be very educational.”

Ed: “Well, Charlie do you turn your hamburger upside down? If anyone did, it would be you,”

 

 

Me: “Actually, I never did. Not to brag, but I'm probably the only person in the world who ever thought of it.”
 

“In the universe,” Cilla said proudly.

 

 

 

And Business Insurance Hadn't Even Been Invented!

 

"Well,” Josh said, as we drove home from soccer practice. “Betsey's mad at Jesus again.”

"Oh, no," I thought, but I just said, "Why?" I was surprised that she had just told him and not refused to go to Sunday School, Last time she hadn't liked the fact that Jesus had driven a legion of demons into a herd of pigs, who promptly threw themselves off a cliff and drowned.

"She says he's a racist."

That was a new one on me. "Why?"

"Because when Jesus killed those pigs, he ruined their owner's business and he probably had to become a beggar. But since he was a Gentile, Jesus didn't care. So that makes him a racist."

"Oh." I didn't know what else to say. "I'll have to talk to her." I wasn't sure how to handle this. I decided to just take her aside or wait until I was taking her somewhere, but Josh beat me to it, maybe because we were having pork chops. Betsey is still not eating meat, although I did get her to agree to eat something that would eat her. But I haven't been able to find any shark or bear or alligator meat. Not that I'm looking all that hard.

Cilla had decided that she was "too young to make that decision." This is probably the only time she has ever been glad to be too young to do something.

"You know," Josh said, "If those pigs hadn't drowned, they would have been killed anyway." We all knew what he was talking about. The pig theological crisis has become a family legend already.

"That's not the point," Betsey said. "He shouldn't have done it. And he was mean to the pig's owner. He ruined his business.  He couldn't even have a going out of business sale, because he didn't have anything left to sell."

"Tell Mom why he did it." Josh likes a good debate. Or maybe he just wanted to give her a hard time. But Betsey seemed glad to get the opportunity to develop her point.

"Because the pigs' owner wasn't Jewish. Jesus didn't care what happened to him. He probably thought it served him right."

"Served him right for what?" Now Cilla was in on the discussion.

"For not being Jewish."

"Tell Mom what that makes him." I don't know why Josh kept telling her to tell me. Ed was right there.

"A racist."

Ed looked up from his potatoes and dropped his fork.

"A what?"

"A racist. That's a person who . . ."

"I know what a racist is. You should never call anyone that. It's like the n-word."

"But a person who would use the n-word is a racist. So couldn't you call them a racist?"

"Well . . " Ed had to think for a minute. I didn't say anything. I was enjoying not having to answer the questions for a change. Finally he got an idea. "Two wrongs don't make a right."

"And anyway, we don't know any racists." I was shocked at myself. I sounded like my mother, who could never see the point of talking about something in theory, except in science.

"But we might someday," Cilla said, almost with horrified anticipation, like we might know a vampire someday.

"And we know Jesus."

"Don't say that, Betsey." Cilla was getting upset. "You'll hurt His feelings and the Blessed Virgin Mother's."

"The Blessed Virgin Mother is probably embarrassed for Him anyway."

I didn't know what to say. I wondered if it would be cowardly to change the subject. Fortunately, Josh had gotten bored and wanted to know what was for dessert.
 

 

 

Christmas Eve Eve

When I was a child counting down to Christmas, I would say, “If you don’t count today and you don’t count tomorrow, Christmas is X number of days away.” 

When I told my mother this, she said, “Why wouldn’t you count today and tomorrow?”

I said “To make it come faster.”

“Now, Charlie, you know that doesn’t make sense.”

Later I heard her telling one of her friends about this on the phone.  “She’s such a funny little thing.  I just don’t know how she’s going to get along in the world.”

If she’d sounded amused, my feelings would have been hurt, but she sounded concerned.  So I never shared the countdown with her again, although I kept it up.

 

I did tell my cousin Bethany, who thought it was a neat idea.  Aunt Pooh suggested that we could also count down to Christmas Eve.  “And then there’s Christmas Eve Eve.”

The day before Christmas Eve always had a special feel.  It was the last day of school before Christmas vacation.  I’d get to stay up late.  There would the final deluge of Christmas cards waiting to be gone through when I got home and my parents brought home the schmooze food gifts they’d gotten from business contacts.  It was a preview of Christmas.

As an adult, with the job of “doing” Christmas, I count today and tomorrow to try and make Christmas come more slowly so I can get things done.  I’m not sure if it works.

But by Christmas Eve Eve, I either have finished everything or given up.  The children come home from school all excited and I let them have some of the “not until Christmas” cookies that I’ve been guarding.  We sit around and they try to get me to let them open “just one" of the presents that Ed and I got for them to “help Santa out.”  Somebody says, “If you don’t count today and you don’t count tomorrow, it’s Christmas.” 

And we all understand. 

 

November 12 is the birthday of  Charlotte Emily Anne Sommerville McDonald, heroine/narrator of the fiction family sitcom blog Meet the McDonalds.

Mother of three, who works in the library at The College, Charlie (as she is best known) is a recovering English major and former Unitarian, who became an Episcopalian in  college.

Meet the McDonalds 

Cast of Characters

The Family

Ed, Charlie, Betsey, Josh, Cilla, Duke, and Nigel 

Janet McDonald -- Ed’s mother, married to

The Rev. Kate Parker

Douglas McDonald -- Ed’s father, who left Janet for

Missy Hays (currently McDonald), who has just left him for 

Jack Sommerville – Charlie’s father

Allison – Ed’s sister, married to Tony 
Their children are Dylan and Courtney

Ancestors and Extended Family

George (deceased) and Alice  (deceased) Whitfield. Charlie’s maternal grandparents.  He was an English professor and she was an at-home mom and painter.  Their children are

Louisa (Louie), Charlie’s mother (deceased) 

Ursula (Aunt Pooh)  Married to Dr. Joseph Gruenwald, a therapist.  Their children are Meghan, Joanna, Bethany, and James (Jim). (His nickname was Jamie until he figured out why.) 

Henry James Whitfield (Uncle Hank) Married to Judy, Their children: The Three J’s  Jessica, Jason, and Jennifer

The Girls

Karen – Married to Tom.  Their children are Eric, Jacob (Jake) and Lucas

Nicole (Nikki)  Married to Helmut.  Their children are Jennifer and Ilsa.

Dr. Emily Evans – Professor specializing in Early American Literature.   Single, Lesbian, and looking.

Alice Barrett –New guest  lecturer at The College.

Michele - Emily's ex.  A mysterious visitor.

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 . .  ."                      

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.

Louisa, Pooh,and the Haunted Loo, A Tale of Revenge by Guest Blogger Aunt Pooh



 

My sister, my brother, and I grew up in was technically a suburb, but was really the country.  There were cornfields on two sides of our house and a farm down the road. We loved to go in the cornfields ,and for Halloween, we would pick the corn, which was hard, shell it, and at night go around the neighborhood, throw it at people's windows and run away.

There were stories of children who had gotten lost in the cornfield and were never seen again.  My sister Louisa who was very "down to earth" (She thought Halloween costumes were "stupid", although she did enjoy the Trick of Treat candy,)  said it was probably "bums" (That was what we called homeless people then.), but my brother Hank and I thought it might be ghosts.

To hear my mother talk, you'd think bums were "coming in the windows", as she liked to say.  Up the road was an old cemetery, with not just gravestones, but mausoleums.  We liked to look in the windows, because of course the spirits didn't come out during the day.  Louisa said that was stupid and that she wouldn't be afraid to go in the cemetery at night and sit on one of the benches and eat a sandwich.  When Hank asked what kind of sandwich, I was about to say that wasn't important, but Louisa said she would bring cheese because peanut butter and jelly was too messy.  Then Hank asked if she would put mustard or mayonnaise on it, and she said she would just eat it plain because mustard and mayonnaise were too messy, too. 

We had to pass the cemetery on our way to school.  There was a hedge around it, so my mother told us to walk on the other side of the road in case bums were hiding the hedge waiting to jump out and grab us.   Sometimes, just to be daring, we would walk on the cemetery side, but I never did by myself.

As if the cornfield and the cemetery weren't enough, there was a haunted house between the cemetery and the school.  It was up a long driveway, so if a ghost or bum got you, no one would know.  One Saturday, just before Halloween, Louisa was talking again about having a sandwich in the cemetery.  Hank said, "Oh, Louie, you're just saying that.  You know you couldn't get out at night."

Louisa was a realist.  "Let's do it this afternoon."

This time I was down to earth.  "That's not scary.  There might be people coming to put flower on the graves and stuff."

Hank thought a minute, "Let's go to the haunted house.  We can have a picnic on the lawn."

That sounded good.  When my mother found us making sandwiches, we told her we were going to a nature walk, and she gave us some cookies to take and even some milk in my Cinderella thermos bottle.  We put it all in my lunch kit and started off.

It was a sunny day, but when we started up the drive, we felt a chill in the wind.  I said maybe it was the ghosts.  Louisa said, "Oh, Pooh," but Hank looked excited.    Supposedly, the house had belonged to a rich family, who had all died off except one daughter.  Some had been drowned, some had died in carriage or car accidents, and some had suddenly gotten very sick and died, even though they were young and didn't have anything wrong with them.  After all that, nobody had wanted to marry the daughter,  not that you could blame them.  So she lived alone, except for her housekeeper and gardener and  then she grew old and died of a heart attack.  That was a little anticlimactic, but as Hank pointed out when we heard the story, maybe she had been scared by a ghost.

We sat on the front steps and ate our sandwiches,  The Louisa got bored listening to Hank and me wondering if there were rats or bats or bums in the house and stood up.  "I'm going in there."

She was always more daring than I was, probably because she didn't have much imagination.  That can be a good thing sometimes.

I didn't know what to say.  I didn't want to do it, but I didn't want to seem afraid, although I was.  Hank was more practical.

"Oh, Louie, the door must be locked."

It was, but Louisa decided to try to back door.  "If that's locked, we can break a window with your lunch box."

We went around to the back on a stone path that was overgrown with grass and weeds.  The back steps wobbled, but Louisa pushed on the back door and it opened.  I was glad my lunchbox wasn't going to be scratched or the thermos broken.  I decided I had to go in.  After all, I was the oldest.

The kitchen still had a table and chairs covered with dust.  There was spider webs in the corners and even on the faucet in the sink.  I  ran my finger over the dust on the table.  "Don't do that," Hank said.  "The ghosts might get mad."

We went into what was probably the living room.  There wasn't any furniture there;  the kitchen had been dirty, but the empty rooms seemed so desolate that I shivered.  "Let's go home," I said.

"Don't be a baby.  Let's go upstairs." 

"Let's go home;  I have to go to the bathroom."

"You can go upstairs."  And she started to go up.  Hank and I followed her;  what else could we do?

Upstairs was a long hall with about five doors.  One was closed.  "That must be the bathroom,"  Louisa said.  I waited for her to come with me. "Well, go ahead."

 There were no windows in the bathroom.

"Keep the door open a crack, but don't look."  The bathroom was dusty too, but I really did have to go and it was better than the bushes.  As soon as I was finished and stood up, the door slammed shut.  I tried to open it, but I couldn't.  The knob turned, but I couldn't push it open.  I was in the dark.  If there were any spiders, I couldn't see them.

"Louie, open the door." 

"I cccccccan't,"  Louisa sounded scared.

I pushed again.  Nothing.  Were the ghosts holding the door shut?

"I'll go home for help," Hank offered. Were the ghosts waiting for them to leave so the could get me?  And I was more afraid of my parents finding out than of the ghosts.

"Louie, please."

"I'm trying."

I almost started to cry, but if I got out of this, alive she would never let me forget it. 

Suddenly the door opened.  I nearly fell into her.

We ran down the stairs, out the door, and down the lane.  Fortunately, Hank remembered the  lunch box.

My mother was surprised that we hadn't brought home any flowers or leaves.  Louisa said we had picked some, but I had left them behind after we ate.  "You know how she is."

I never told anyone about this until after Louisa died.  At the luncheon after her funeral, Hank and I were reminiscing and I mentioned the haunted house.

Hank looked sheepish. "Louie made me promise never to tell anyone, but  I guess it's all right now.  Louie was leaning against the door so you couldn't get out.  She said it was to make up for all the times you and your friends would play Princesses and would make her be the servant."





 

 

Ed -- the Dad and the Legend

Ed just snorted whenever anyone brought up the election.

"Just because I'm not carrying on, doesn't mean I don't care."  That's one of Ed's favorite lines. 

Betsey and her friends Izzy (Isabella) and Sam  (Samantha) want to be the Khardashian sisters.  It involves buying long wigs and short dresses. "And you know, Mom, we'll be able to wear the dresses after Halloween"

"Just like a bridesmaid's gown."  That was lost on her.

Ed is not a fan.  When Betsey told him, he Googled the Khardashians.  He didn't say much, but later he said he was glad that at least they weren't going to pad their butts.

The carnival is still going on, and naturally Ed and I try to take the kids every year.  They sit in the back seat playing video games and asking if we are there yet.  Ed, who can be quite literal at times, says, “No.  We are on the way.  If we were there the car wouldn’t be moving.”

“What if you’re parking the car?  Is that being there?”

Josh had him on that.

“It depends on what you mean by being and what you mean by there.”

After everyone had gone to bed, I was lying awake thinking about the olives and the picnics at my grandmother’s and Aunt Pooh’s houses.  “Isn’t it funny how my mother is remembered for her remark about olives [being so festive]?"

“You ought to have it put on her tombstone.”

I knew Ed was joking, but I wondered what my mother would have thought of that.  I hate to say it, but humor wasn’t her strong point.

I suddenly had a thought.  What were the grandchildren going to call me?  “What do you want our grandchildren to call you?”

“Charlie.  Seriously?”

“Grandma is fine for me, since that’s what I called my grandmother and that’s what they call three of their grandmothers.  Janet might not like them using the same name they did for Missy."

I had another idea.  “Maybe one of the grandchildren will have a cute name for me before he or she can really talk and everyone will use it.  Karen calls her grandmother Noo Noo.  It’s a long story.”

“Fine.  I’ll speak to the first grandchild about it.”

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.”

“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.”

“I never paid attention [in Sunday School].  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."

 

 

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

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