Friday, February 23, 2007
Getting a Lot Out Of It
I have three blog entries on the back burner, so I'll try my best to keep them distinct.
Last weekend I went home and it was wonderful as usual. My aunt's in-laws were having their 50th wedding anniversary, so Ree, Tim, and Mason, and their separation anxiety-prone dog, Cleo, were staying overnight at Grandpa Kenny's house. This meant that there was plenty of time for me to play with Mason. Him and I are buddies and when I'm not there and he feels I should be, he will keep asking when I will arrive. That's a good feeling.
Mason, Cleo, and I were playing "hide and squeak," and since Mason is only 3 years old it was relatively easy to include the dog. All I had to do was call Cleo into the room after she'd left and she'd come running over to me while we were hiding behind a sofa or underneath a blanket. It wasn't difficult to convince Mason that she'd found us by legitimate terms of the game. It also didn't hurt that Cleo raised a mighty rumpus of howling and wiggling whenever she found us.
Despite her anxiety issues, Cleo is a wonderful dog. She's very cute and very loving. In fact, I've never seen an animal so excited to see people in my life. So after one of the rounds when Cleo found Mason and I under a chair cushion, she started to lick my face and get all excited, so I gave her a hug and said, "Cleo is such a good dog, isn't she?"
I was rather surprised when Mason said, "No," since he's at the age when he's likely to agree with any statement he doesn't feel strongly about. I asked him why he would say that and he told me that she was mean. As it turned out, she'd bitten him earlier that afternoon. Knowing Cleo and Mason treat each other like brother and sister competing for mom's attention, I asked him why she'd bitten him.
"I dunno...Well, I bit her in the tail and she bit me in the face," he said in his 3 year old dialect. I promptly gave him a brief verbal lesson in cause and effect, but I think Cleo's lesson had more impact =) At the same time I'm willing to bet he'd do it again.
Ree just got back from a month long adventure in India refining her skills as an Ayurvedic Healing Practitioner. She had a magical experience and still found time to bring me back some bitchin' souvenirs; a bag featuring a really neat print of Ganesha, a set of 7-day incense, a fan made entirely of layered peacock feathers, an amazing bronze ohm symbol, and some really unique candy with flavors Americans are likely to call "savory and spicy," as opposed to sweet. She is incredibly thoughtful and the gifts inspired me to look up the history of Hindu gods and Indian culture.
My family decided to go to the mass for the 50th anniversary as well (Catholics often have church services for that sort of thing), since it was at our old church and Tim's dad is starting to get pretty sick. I haven't been to church in probably 2 years, consistently in closer to 4 or 5, so it was kind of strange, since I've completely separated from Catholicism now, physically and emotionally. I struck a compromise by only responding to the prompts I agreed with, not taking communion, and leaving significant gaps in the Nicene creed.
During the weekend announcements, a representative from the Knights of Columbus came to the front of the church to make a little speech about joining. He reminded us that in order to be a Knight you had to be male, catholic, and over 18. At this point I turned to my mom and asked,
"What is this, the Middle Ages?"
"No, this is Catholicism," she replied. Oh, snap!
While looking around the room at the end of mass I realized again that I genuinely did not want to be a part of this religion. I saw so many stereotypes sitting around in the pews; people just going to church out of obligation, fear, or habit, people who write prayers about "defending" marriage from homosexuals, and people who are unwilling to listen to any sort of logic and are just bible-thumping because somebody told them that was the right way to pray. I know this happens anywhere you go, religious or not, which is why I don't feel bad for not going to church. I don't want other people defining my relationship with God in ways that I don't agree with. Fellowship can be nice sometimes, but ultimately I'd prefer it to be just Him and me in the progressive but faithful world He has constructed to make sense for Steph.
Meanwhile, it impressed me a little bit to see the old women sitting in the same pew as they have every Sunday since they were children. That kind of faith you can't judge. Not even the faith of the old lady in front of me that smelled like cat pee, all I could do was stop breathing when we stood to sing, while applauding her divine joy.
I know it sounds like I am awfully cynical about Catholicism and organized religion in general, but I am pretty spiritual and really there are parts I respect. I'm very glad that I went to mass last week and I feel like I got a lot out of it. This is why I will recite anecdotes and make snarky comments (about almost everything), but there are some lines I didn't cross and wouldn't cross. I would let you know if I really hated something.
One more story: before the mass started we were all gathered in the back of church. I was following Mason around, making sure he stayed out of trouble, when he climbed up on a chair and looked into the sanctuary. "I don't see God in there," he said with concern. To which my father responded with a God-fearing laugh, "Uh oh, you'd better look harder!"
Interpret that as you will - I know I've retained a few personal responses from multiple perspectives. What I wonder, though, is what he thought God was going to look like, his family is far from the "white male in robes on a throne above the clouds" type.
Last weekend I went home and it was wonderful as usual. My aunt's in-laws were having their 50th wedding anniversary, so Ree, Tim, and Mason, and their separation anxiety-prone dog, Cleo, were staying overnight at Grandpa Kenny's house. This meant that there was plenty of time for me to play with Mason. Him and I are buddies and when I'm not there and he feels I should be, he will keep asking when I will arrive. That's a good feeling.
Mason, Cleo, and I were playing "hide and squeak," and since Mason is only 3 years old it was relatively easy to include the dog. All I had to do was call Cleo into the room after she'd left and she'd come running over to me while we were hiding behind a sofa or underneath a blanket. It wasn't difficult to convince Mason that she'd found us by legitimate terms of the game. It also didn't hurt that Cleo raised a mighty rumpus of howling and wiggling whenever she found us.
Despite her anxiety issues, Cleo is a wonderful dog. She's very cute and very loving. In fact, I've never seen an animal so excited to see people in my life. So after one of the rounds when Cleo found Mason and I under a chair cushion, she started to lick my face and get all excited, so I gave her a hug and said, "Cleo is such a good dog, isn't she?"
I was rather surprised when Mason said, "No," since he's at the age when he's likely to agree with any statement he doesn't feel strongly about. I asked him why he would say that and he told me that she was mean. As it turned out, she'd bitten him earlier that afternoon. Knowing Cleo and Mason treat each other like brother and sister competing for mom's attention, I asked him why she'd bitten him.
"I dunno...Well, I bit her in the tail and she bit me in the face," he said in his 3 year old dialect. I promptly gave him a brief verbal lesson in cause and effect, but I think Cleo's lesson had more impact =) At the same time I'm willing to bet he'd do it again.
Ree just got back from a month long adventure in India refining her skills as an Ayurvedic Healing Practitioner. She had a magical experience and still found time to bring me back some bitchin' souvenirs; a bag featuring a really neat print of Ganesha, a set of 7-day incense, a fan made entirely of layered peacock feathers, an amazing bronze ohm symbol, and some really unique candy with flavors Americans are likely to call "savory and spicy," as opposed to sweet. She is incredibly thoughtful and the gifts inspired me to look up the history of Hindu gods and Indian culture.
My family decided to go to the mass for the 50th anniversary as well (Catholics often have church services for that sort of thing), since it was at our old church and Tim's dad is starting to get pretty sick. I haven't been to church in probably 2 years, consistently in closer to 4 or 5, so it was kind of strange, since I've completely separated from Catholicism now, physically and emotionally. I struck a compromise by only responding to the prompts I agreed with, not taking communion, and leaving significant gaps in the Nicene creed.
During the weekend announcements, a representative from the Knights of Columbus came to the front of the church to make a little speech about joining. He reminded us that in order to be a Knight you had to be male, catholic, and over 18. At this point I turned to my mom and asked,
"What is this, the Middle Ages?"
"No, this is Catholicism," she replied. Oh, snap!
While looking around the room at the end of mass I realized again that I genuinely did not want to be a part of this religion. I saw so many stereotypes sitting around in the pews; people just going to church out of obligation, fear, or habit, people who write prayers about "defending" marriage from homosexuals, and people who are unwilling to listen to any sort of logic and are just bible-thumping because somebody told them that was the right way to pray. I know this happens anywhere you go, religious or not, which is why I don't feel bad for not going to church. I don't want other people defining my relationship with God in ways that I don't agree with. Fellowship can be nice sometimes, but ultimately I'd prefer it to be just Him and me in the progressive but faithful world He has constructed to make sense for Steph.
Meanwhile, it impressed me a little bit to see the old women sitting in the same pew as they have every Sunday since they were children. That kind of faith you can't judge. Not even the faith of the old lady in front of me that smelled like cat pee, all I could do was stop breathing when we stood to sing, while applauding her divine joy.
I know it sounds like I am awfully cynical about Catholicism and organized religion in general, but I am pretty spiritual and really there are parts I respect. I'm very glad that I went to mass last week and I feel like I got a lot out of it. This is why I will recite anecdotes and make snarky comments (about almost everything), but there are some lines I didn't cross and wouldn't cross. I would let you know if I really hated something.
One more story: before the mass started we were all gathered in the back of church. I was following Mason around, making sure he stayed out of trouble, when he climbed up on a chair and looked into the sanctuary. "I don't see God in there," he said with concern. To which my father responded with a God-fearing laugh, "Uh oh, you'd better look harder!"
Interpret that as you will - I know I've retained a few personal responses from multiple perspectives. What I wonder, though, is what he thought God was going to look like, his family is far from the "white male in robes on a throne above the clouds" type.
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