Presbyfruit

I'll do another post real quick and maybe she won't notice

We went to see "Wolverine" this afternoon;  I'm trying to cultivate an interest in sci-fi so Kari and I can share movies together.  I overwhelmingly prefer British period movies to sci-fi, but I can appreciate a good story. 

The problem is, I can barely follow most sci-fi story lines.  I try really hard to concentrate, but I never understand what the heck is going on.  Even when I stay awake.

Several things I noticed at the theater.  We were there for a 5:20 show and practically had the whole place to ourselves (there were 9 people in a giant theater, including us).  There were a preponderance of men, most of them by themselves.  

And, finally, those popcorn bags were never intended to have long, loving squirts of that nasty, artery-clogging "butter."  I run in horror from that stuff;  Kari made two separate trips for countless squirts.  I know the bags were not constructed to hold so much liquid because as soon as we sat down, Kari's bag started leaking the crap all over the place. 

At least her heart was spared.

She'll make me take this post down when she reads it...

...but I'm doing it anyway.

Fine Woodworking Magazine is running a handtool storage cabinet contest.  Kari reluctantly submitted her very own tool cabinet.  If you like her chest (and I sure do), please vote for it.  Do it, Minions!  (all 2 of you):

Vote here for the Hanging Tool Cabinet

10 Happy Years

I just got back from our Wednesday night Taize service at church.  I've been taking a break and only showing up when I have to "work" (e.g. usher, work in the nursery, library, whatever).  I realized, while I was journaling during the service, that this is probably not such a good idea if I ever want to transcend my burnout and spiritual deadness.  But that's another post.

Tonight, I lit the candles, balancing the very expensive hurricane shades on my prodigious bosom while my hair--and the flame--were being blown around by the full force AC vents.  As per usual, when I was done, I had candle wax all over the chest area of my shirt. 

Besides my journaling, I was fully focused on waiting for something to happen. Anything to knock me out of my Spirit-less stupor.  

Two of the songs played tonight were songs that Kari and I chose for our commitment ceremony 5 years ago.  We decided to have this ceremony on our 5th anniversary and hastily planned something that approximates a Presbyterian wedding.  We sang two old stalwarts, "Come Thou Font of Every Blessing" and "Be Thou My Vision," and one of the Taize songs from tonight ushered us to the front of the church, escorted by Kari's dad.  

I was cracking up tonight (inwardly--Taize is a quiet, meditative service) thinking how bizarre our ceremony was for two lesbians. 

We couldn't do it in our church, which still breaks my heart a little.  We had to do it in the Unitarian Church, where such things would not compromise jobs or risk the judicial wrath of the Presbyterian Church.  Bummer.

Anyway, the ceremony's not the thing.  I've been with this woman for 10 years. TEN YEARS!!!  I'm constantly surprised by how much I still actually like her and want to spend time with her.  We rarely, if ever, fight.  When we're together we laugh like ninnies.  I might be able to name one or two other couples I know who seem as happy as we are.  

I'm not gloating.  Okay, maybe I am.  While I didn't get the spiritual slap-upside-the- head that I was hoping for, I got to think really good thoughts about my perfect wife.

Happy Anniversary, Baby!!!  

Beautiful historical stuff and annoying old guys

Kari and I spent part of Saturday at the Fort Frederick Market Fair in western Maryland. There were tradespeople and hardcore French & Indian War re-enactors. The day was beautiful and the costumes were outstanding. I'd love to do historical reenactment, but not in flouncy dresses. I really dig the men's outfits. Breeches and vests and military suits. It's strange for me, because I'm somewhat of a girly girl, or at least I used to be, to want to dress like the dudes.  But there it is.  

The most annoying thing about our time at Fort Frederick came when Kari's mom chose an occupied picnic table to sit down.  The empty ones were too far away. There were three old guys sitting there, one of them a re-enactor.  Mom-in-law sat her stuff down and walked away to get some napkins or something.  As soon as I sat down, these old farts were off and running about Viagra and how long an old guy needs to, um, finish.  With me sitting right there!   I was totally disgusted by this kind of talk.  

Not that I'm a prude.  I just don't want to hear that kind of stuff from dirty old assholes while I'm trying to eat.  Or anytime, really. I think part of it is generational; men in their 60's and 70's, I've noticed, do tell sexist off-color jokes to women.   

The guy sitting beside me noticed my sour look and lack of amusement and said, "You just have to have a sense of humor. HA HA HA HA."  He was a too-long, too-intense laugh-er.  

Just then, Kari called me (she had been jacking her jaws with the woodworkers) and I made my getaway, grateful to leave Viagra talk back where it belongs---away from me.

First Day of April

A couple of months ago, I blogged about knocking down a street sign in my neighborhood.  My dog went the wrong way around the pole and when I got the leash on the right side, the whole thing toppled.

Today, I received the following letter:

This April Fool's beauty was conceived by my dear mom-in-common-law and executed by my dear spouse.  

My first concern wasn't the money, but the notion that Big Brother had identified me based on nothing more than a photo of a woman walking two dogs.  I reached to call the woman in the letter and Kari stopped me and confessed.  

Even for consummate pranksters, this was a pretty good one.  Just wait 'til next year, Bee-yatches!

This is what it's like to live with a hardcore woodworker

Just what the hell is this, and why is it in my bathtub?

My Mom strikes again with the email machine

Here's a message I received from my mother today. I didn't do any editing. This is how she talks (and spells, when she's typing):

I had to tell you something my trainer told me when she was there on Tues. She had this guy that gets gasy when he trains and will excuse himself to go to the next room and farts really loud. I almost fell off the Gazelle laughing when she told me. Isn't that funny?? Only a guy would be that stupid, hell go outside if your going to blow the building up.

Beautiful moments of incongruity

Last week, Kari and I attended a public meeting regarding a proposed skateboard park for our small borough.

I expected the usual NIMBY objections, and I wasn't disappointed.  In fact, I appreciated the honesty of one fellow who explicitly said, "It's a great idea.  But I don't want it in my backyard."  He had a really strong and endearing Southern accent. We live in Pennsylvania. Incongruous moment number 1.

I also expected a few fireworks.  One of the elected officials in my town thrives on conflict and drama.  I voted for her and supported her presence on council because I believe she's a tenacious watchdog for her constituents, especially regarding fiscal matters. She's also an up-from-the-bootstraps business owner and very different from other council members, who appear to be standard-issue high achievers.  

Heterogeneity is a good thing.  Especially in politics and on church boards.

However, she lacks tact and is not much of a team player.  So I wasn't surprised when she announced that she had a petition for folks to register their displeasure with the park.  I also wasn't surprised when she, and another resident, used the term "riffraff" to describe the kids who would populate the skate park.

Riffraff.  They actually said that.  

In front of us sat three people and a small child.  I judged them to be skateboarders, based on their hip clothing and haircuts, and on their ages (20's). The child was about 3 and shockingly well-behaved during a somewhat dry meeting.  

After the riffraff comment, one of the young women raised her hand to address the notion that skaters are scumbags.  She was holding the child, who by this time had fallen asleep in her mother's arms, with a binky in her mouth.  The mother calmly and without anger said that she and her husband were skateboarders, and that she was just as concerned about having a safe and clean place to skate as she was about her child having a safe place to play.  Incongruous moment number 2, and a beautiful one.

As we were leaving, I noticed my bulldog councilwoman talking heatedly with another obviously bright and articulate skater.  I could see that he was taking her to task for her comments and I enjoyed seeing them together going at it.  He had a shaved head and beard and looked like he could bench press, um, a lot.  (I don't actually know what a good bench press would be).  Incongruous moment number 3.

Small towns are great.

R.I.P., Norm

My neighbor died last Monday night.  I knew he was gone when I walked the dogs early Tuesday morning and his son-in-law had hung the flag in their front yard at half-mast.  Norm was 84 and receiving hospice care at home.

He was Old-School Man.  By that I mean he was a very hard worker, handy with machines and motors, a devoted family man, a proud World War II Army Air Corps veteran and a helpful neighbor.  

I remember a big snow we had several years ago.  I was shoveling a path for the letter carrier when a reporter came walking down the street asking those dopey human-interest reporter questions.  I remember telling him that we neighbors pulled together and would shovel for one another and for elderly neighbors.

No sooner had these words left my mouth when I heard the roar of Norm's snow blower and saw him rounding the corner and proceeding down our entire block, with a little wave as he passed.  

At the time, he was at least 80.

My Facebook 25 Random Things, because I'm stuck

A local newspaper columnist posted hers in her column this morning, and since I'm at a loss for blog posts, here's mine.  By the way, I'm spending a good bit of time on Facebook these days.  Feel free to friend me, as long as you're not a crazy person.

1. I miss my grandfather terribly. I think because of his absence from my life (since 2001) I’ve developed a weird daddy complex where I look to older men to provide safety and comfort, which of course they never do, especially when I’m not related to them and they hardly know me. My grandfather’s photos are all over the house and on my cellphone. I don’t want to know or hear anything that would knock him off his pedestal.
2. I used to be super shy and introverted. People really wore me out. I’ve morphed into a raging extrovert. I’m still quiet, but I love people. They give me energy and I love to meet new people and hear their stories.
3. That being said, I have a strong aversion to needy, clingy, crazy people who will suck my energy dry, if I allow them.
4. I become more and more like my father every day, particularly in the motormouth department.
5. I will probably convert to Judaism before I die.
6. I’m very pro-Israel. Few people know this about me.
7. I didn’t have a drop of alchohol until my 21st birthday.
8. I quit drinking 9 years ago. Too many lost brain cells.
9. I have little patience and hardly any compassion for people who abuse alcohol and drugs. Both things have ruined my immediate family. 
10.. I never re-read anything I’ve written.
11. I have had little contact with people from my past. I never wanted to revisit people I knew when I despised myself and when I was, frankly, nuttier than a fruitcake. That is, until this Facebook thing. Which I’m loving.
12. My mom is frickin' awesome! She runs a business, deals with crazy relatives and has to be the best daughter ever. The way she cared for and cares for her parents always amazes me and makes me proud. I wish she lived closer so we could do things together and so I could take care of her when the time comes.
13. I’m moving toward vegetarianism, ever so slowly.
14. Sausage put me through college. Family business.
15. I have a British fetish. TV, books, movies, history.
16. I spent childhood summers in Greenbriar County, WV. I miss those summers.
17. I spend too much time thinking about how I would re-do my life if I were granted do-overs.
18. I have done “prayerful healing touch” for church members. (Okay, that could sound kind of naughty, but it's not. It may not be in the Presbyterian Book of Order, but it's all above-board).
19. I just spent six years on the Board of Deacons, two as vice-moderator and one as secretary. I’ve never said that publicly, because my denomination has a problem with gay folks and I’ve been afraid of a witch hunt.
20. Sometimes I have a persecution complex.
21. I have internalized homophobia and I'm not sure I'll ever get rid of it..
22. Whereas I used to be a morose and severely depressed person, so much so that my childhood nickname was “Frowny Face,” now I’m a giggling goofball who laughs at pretty much anything. Even Dad Humor. 
23. I’m pretty sure I’ll have some kind of blood cancer in my lifetime. Genes will out, I’m afraid. On my mother's side alone, we have lymphoma, leukemia and Hodgkin's.
24. I miss my uncle, who died in 1994 just before his 45th birthday. I wish I could have gotten to know him better. 
24. My extended family is full of fundamentalist Christians.
25. I’m very grateful my parents put me in Catholic Schools. Religion class was the first time I’d ever heard that God did not sit down with a quill pen and write the Bible, chapter by chapter. My religious experiences at Sacred Heart and Charleston Catholic opened me up to a world beyond Biblical literalism.
26. Shortly after my arrival at Sacred Heart, my 7th grade English teacher called me up to her desk and told me I was not allowed to take the Eucharist because I was Protestant. I never knew. That hurt.
27. One more for the road: I think that people who say that "relationships are work" are usually with the wrong person. I'm with the right person.