Totally random dispatches from a goofy lesbian Presbyterian who loves books, history, old-time radio and walking.
The Village Carpenter Mrs. Fruit's woodworking blog, filled with pretty pictures and words I've never heard of. I really don't know what she's talking about. There are also a few cute pics of our companion animals, because we're gay and it's a requirement.
Seeing as how my own Mrs. Fruit (aka The Village Carpenter) has outed herself on her blog, I might as well start writing about her own real, true name. Most of you who read this sporadic little blog already know her, either in person or on Facebook. So, it's Kari. And I'll probably refer to her as Kari, since I'm getting lazier and lazier and want to keep my typing exertions to a minimum. Her name, first and last, is the equivalent of "Mary Smith" in Sweden. When you Google her name, you get a bunch of Swedish sites.
I was thinking about this blog today and how many of my posts make me out to be a really busy church lady who has no time to blog or do much else. I may need to re-visit that perception of myself. I've noticed recently that my Twitter and Facebook updates are full of references to naps and baths and languorous lie-ins. I think the real me is someone who wants, needs, relies on lying around in a disengaged stupor. And when I'm busy, I tend to feel more overwhelmed than the average person and I suppose it comes out in the form of frantic, woe-is-me posts.
I have no idea where I'm going with this....It's just a random ramble.
Here's another one: yesterday at church, one of my fellow ushers told me that she was having issues with her knee highs. She almost pulled them off before we had to walk down the aisle to collect the plates because they had slipped down almost to her ankles. She did that thing with her hands that they do in old movies: she flipped both of them up and then waved them back down, as if she were saying, "the hell with these knee-highs." She's in her 80's and very interesting. I can imagine her being in consciousness raising "women's lib" groups in the early 70's. She's very, very pro-choice because her grandmother died having an illegal abortion. I'm not crazy about the whole idea of abortion (my own radical pro-choice views changed when a close friend got pregnant and called me regularly giving me development updates on her child: "he's got fingernails now." "He's doing flips in my belly." "He's peeing and pooping in my womb." (that one took me by surprise!)). These milestones happened quite early in the pregnancy. Fifteen years ago I would have called her baby a "fetus," but I couldn't do that anymore.
However, knowing the story of my fellow usher and her dead grandmother helps me to reconcile her position. And of course, that's what it's all about with me---getting the Story.
I've had a busy week. I went with my the mom-in-law to see an operetta, "The Student Prince." The music was beautiful although the lead actor was very, very fey. His voice was like an angel's. I've already purchased MIL and I tickets for "The Mikado" which is coming up soon. Pop-in-law and Mrs. Fruit are very grateful that they don't have to attend what they would consider lame-ass things.
We attended a Covenant Network fundraising gig last Friday night. In the eleven years that I've been officially connected with the PC(USA), I've noticed a definite change in attitudes toward LGBTQ's in the church. The Covenant Network is a within-the-system advocacy and educational group that has been working for full inclusion for those of us on the margins. Inscribed in our constitution is a prohibition against people like me serving as ordained ministers and/or officers in the Church. More and more straight folks are on board with what Covenant is trying to do, which is encouraging.
The Roto Rooter man came to visit this past week. It was bad, very bad. Let's just say that my nickname around the house is "Dr. Destructo" because I tend to break, ruin, fall on, knock off, knock things out...
It wasn't my fault this time. Someone else in the house who shall remain nameless apparently has been putting used facial tissues in the toilet. This caused a horribly unfortunate situation for Mr. Roto Rooter Man.
We had a very good dinner our friends Scott and his wife Weeza (not her real name) on Saturday night. Scott cracks us up; he's a very masculine dude and yet wherever he goes, men hit on him. He doesn't know why and neither do we. I mean, he's clean and smells good, but he's very definitely a straight guy. He's also sort of a grumpy-puss (but we love him for that). He told us that his son's friend will jump on him while he's on the couch and bump-and-grind on him. His response is to yell at the kid. Scott's son and the kid just laugh.
Whenever I want to frighten Mrs. Fruit, I tell her that my biological clock is ticking. When I see a baby, I feel a scary pull; I want to hold them and kiss their little heads. And I always feel a little sad, thinking I'll never have one of my own, and I'll die a bitter, lonely old woman with no one to care for me or even care whether I live or die.
On Sunday, on Mother's Day no less, I had a small epiphany while sitting in church and watching Yogirl's baby. He fussed a little bit and his Daddy took him out of the sanctuary. The next time I noticed, he was asleep on his Mom's lap. He was straddling her thigh, facing her, and fast asleep. I watched as she rubbed his back and kissed his head. A woman in front of me, whose only child is in her first year of college, also watched.
For the first time, my reverential musings about the beauty of infants strayed beyond the sleeping infant. I thought about my plans for Sunday afternoon, and his mother's plans. I thought about how I could take a long nap and watch an old movie. Or work out. Or take the dogs for a long walk.
I thought about how Yogirl's (and -boy's) son would probably be awake when they got home. And then they'd have to make sure he didn't put electric cords in his mouth or crawl out the door. It made me tired thinking about it.
And I realized: I don't have the energy or the stamina or the patience to be a mom. And I felt pretty good about realizing that. It's okay.
The Mrs. and I celebrated 9 years of togetherness on Wednesday, April 30. How did we celebrate? I was at a church gathering and she was busy a-blogging. Which is fine with both of us. We figure that anniversaries and Valentine's days are for stupid men who screw up all year long and have one shot to buy a card, spend some cash, buy some jewelry, do the whole romantic thing (which I suppose is just foreplay for them). We treat each other well every day. No raised voices, arguments, screaming, hateful words. And therefore no makeup flowers and cards. It's practical and suits us.
Yesterday, I served at a funeral reception for about four hours. I used to be a big help at these things, doing dishes and running around re-supplying food. As my extroversion and desire to connect with folks has grown, I've stubbornly claimed my spot at the punch bowl, where I can talk to a large number of people and nosily observe what's going on. I'm pretty bad at serving the punch; every ladle-full gets spilled on the side of the cup. I'm solely responsible for all the sticky fingers in Fellowship Hall.
I usually have a dopey grin on my face. Like my father, whose nickname is Mr. Smiley, I smile all the time, mostly unaware that I'm doing it. When I'm at these funerals, and being energized by people, sometimes I have to tell myself to tone it down, it's a funeral.
I'm sure that only lasts a second. Until the next person wants some punch.
Craft Mentality Amber and Tasha talk about kntting, sewing, cooking, reading and Project Runway.
Craftlit Billed as a "podcast for crafters who like to read." Heather is a writer, teacher, mom, blogger etc. with great insights. Podcast ends with a chapter or two from whatever book is currently featured.
Russell Brand Alas, old Russ resigned from the BBC so his podcasts are no longer available, but here's a link to his youtube website. He's smart, articulate and damn sexy. And he knows that "drugs is bad."
Savage Love Podcast Profane, disgusting, entertaining and very educational podcast based on Dan Savage's sex column. I've learned about some things I rather wish I hadn't, but can't stop listening. Mrs. Fruit refuses to partake----too many F-bombs.
Stephen Fry's Podgrams Writer, actor, comedian, filmmaker, Mac enthusiast and really interesting podcaster. The worst thing about this podcast is that he doesn't do it enough.
The Archers My current, hopeless addiction. A daily podcast of the world's longest running daily soap.