#which is funny because her cousin is clergy

[austin-friars]

"I've worn a veil all my life, and only now...do I realize, how far my hair falls past my knees."

Lady Elizabeth to the Clergy

[quill-of-thoth]

The Saga of Great Uncle Asshole And The Priest From Hell

It's thanksgiving (in the US) so have a family gathering disaster that is old enough to be funny. Almost a decade ago, after a life of stirring up drama everywhere she went, my grandmother died. She was an unhappy woman who tried to be better to her grandkids than she was to her kids, and didn't always succeed, and she's the reason that when I smell cinnamon tic tacs they're accompanied by the reek of an illusory cigarette. This is not a sad post. This is a post about the fact that her funeral was a fucking disaster and it was ultimately about 50% her fault. See, my whole family was at one point or another catholic. Grandma really enjoyed going to church in her last years because it got her out of the nursing home, and priests have to listen when you tell them about the husband you divorced and the children who think they know better than you. Grandma did not consider the fact that the local priest she'd latched onto like a talkative moray eel in a cloud of nicotine smoke was an unmitigated bigot. She left instructions that she wanted her funeral to be at that specific catholic church and for that priest to do the sermon. It didn't occur to her that the person who would be organizing her funeral would be her gay daughter and her daughter's wife.

Shit started getting real about when the doors opened to recieve mourners. Over the course of ten minutes, my aunt summoned:

her elder sister, a paralegal

my father, who has never seen a conflict he would not cheerfully walk away from

Their younger brother, in order to swear at the priest

My mother, who hadn't had a good opportunity to fight a priest since we left our own church and was game to do it again.

This left me, the eldest grandchild, in charge of the receiving line, despite the fact that I knew approximately no one there. My brother and cousins were woodenly shaking hands and then whispering "who's that?" "I don't know." My aunt's husband was escorting the elderly and infirm up the stairs one at a time. My uncle's wife was also around but she knew even fewer people and was mostly listening at the door of the ongoing argument.

So when my brother and Boy cousin went to see if we could pry someone who knew who was related to us out of the argument and I was busy trying to convince an octegenarian that she did NOT need to figure out which of her cousins had married one of grandma's siblings before sitting down, Girl Cousin was alone at the door.

Great Uncle Asshole arrived in a storm of curses and a faux-coonskin cap. He blew past Girl Cousin, thumped his cane up the steps, and seized my hand. It was like shaking hands with an extremely strong mummy. "You look just like your mother! It's the hair, what a bird's nest. Where's your daddy? And the rest of Helen's brood."

I muttered something about them finalizing details with the priest.

"Well, they'll come see me soon enough. Bet you don't know who I am!" I didn't know who anyone was. Everyone older than me was having a verbal cage match with a member of the clergy or escorting some other old fogey to their seats, everyone younger than me had even fewer clues, and my only hope was to wrap this conversation as fast as possible. "Nope!" I said, "I haven't seen most of the people here in years." If I had ever seen them in the first place. He was going to be mad, but I figured if I had to be the bouncer I could probably take an eighty-something year old guy who breathed like the surgeon general's personal warning to smokers. I could at least shut the door on him.

"Of course you wouldn't! Your gran wouldn't have told you. I'm your great uncle Roger, and I'm here to bury the hatchet, by which I mean your grandma! She and I swore over our father's casket we'd never be under the same roof again while we both lived, and by god I kept my oath!" People were starting to stare, and it was at this moment that a thirty-something man in a suit sprinted up the stairs, and my uncle's wife, with a look of dawning horror, called her husband. "Roger's here." The middle aged folks descended immediately. Here is a snapshot of the ensuing conversation: "Roger, why don't we find you a seat?" - my mother in her best teacher voice "Glad to see you're doing well enough to make it" - My father, in his best 'good god I want to be anywhere else' voice. "Take me to the coffin! I want to see her with my own two eyes!" - Great Uncle Asshole, "And hang up my **** hat! Killed it myself!" "I'm so sorry, I didn't know he could walk that fast" - strange suit man "If you are QUITE finished, I am starting the ceremony in ten minutes" - the priest

As my father and his brother towed a grinning and cursing old man to the furthest reaches of the family section, my mother and my oldest aunt caught all the cousins up on the argument with the priest. My youngest aunt was still crying while her wife stared fixedly at the stained glass panes and periodically handed over tissues. The upshot of it all was that my aunt and her wife would be allowed to attend the funeral (on pain of the whole family literally walking out on the priest) but would not be allowed to take communion, because the priest didn't believe in their marriage. My aunt's wife had neglected to point out that, being Jewish, she wasn't going to take communion anyway. "That's fucked" said boy cousin, and the four of us immediately resolved in whispers to refuse communion as well. The priest opened his sermon with pointed remarks about the older generation's devotion and respect for the church. He continued on through psalms and all that until he got to the blessing of the eucharist and asked the family up to receive communion. My father, who hadn't taken communion since I could remember, stayed seated. My mother stayed seated. My aunts and uncles stayed seated. The cousins stayed seated. About a third of the church didn't move. "Well father, I'll have mine! These young folks think hey have all the time in the world to get right with the lord, but you and I know better!" The priest, who had been visibly hoping god would smite us, turned a wincing glare on my great uncle and the series of distant relatives and nursing home neighbors who were now shuffling up. The service dragged on. We were lined up to say goodbye to everyone, while the suit man (who would turn out to be my second cousin) bodily hauled great uncle asshole and his coonskin cap down the stairs. "I should have known my sister wouldn't manage to raise any good Catholics! Horrible woman." he said loudly as he was stuffed into a car driven by suit man's apparent twin. The priest approached as we were finally ready to leave, to ask why we were so stubborn that we deprived ourselves of communion. After all, unlike my youngest aunt, we weren't obvious sinners! "Oh, I'm Lutheran" - My eldest aunt. "I'm an atheist" - My uncle "I don't think you're qualified to bless anything." - My mother, who learned her religion primarily from a horde of socialist-leaning nuns.

With that, we left the wreck of my grandmother's funeral behind. "Helen," said my mother, very deliberately, when we were safely in the car, "would have HATED that." My dad started laughing. "Are you kidding? She would have loved that! It would have been all she complained about for years!"

[srchng4answrs]

Absolution of sin isn’t easy. Every year in my Catholic high school they would bring in priests to listen to our confessions. We would sit in the auditorium an empty chair in between each person and one by one walk to the back of the auditorium where a man in vestments would sit ready to tell us that we are still God’s children. I never went.

“Before religion” isn’t a concept that exists for me. This is strange for many reasons, the primary being that my family is not religious in the slightest. We went to church out of obligation every Christmas and Easter, and stopped following that tradition when I was in 4th grade. I don't know what my mother thought I would gain from going to a religious school for 10 years.

Catholicism is the particular sect of Christianity that I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to reconcile with. The preaching of love and tolerance. The acts of service and the good deeds. Is it still a good deed if you’re doing it for personal gain?

Defender of Mankind. In Ancient Greek that's what the name Alexandria means. That's what My name means. I learned that at church. It’s ironic, the places that tell you you are meant to defend, are the same ones attacking. I wasn’t equipped to defend myself from the teachings of a group that I thought had my best interest at heart.

Eulogies in religious services are often delivered by the clergy member who is officiating the service. A religious eulogy will focus on the role of God and faith in the life of the person who died, rather than any secular accomplishments. I often write eulogies for people in my head. I have never once written something religious.

Father Sean was an odd man. Nothing against him but I wish he would stop sending me friend requests on Facebook.

Gabriel is a Hebrew name meaning “God is my strength”. He told Mary to not be afraid, but he was also the angel sent to destroy Jerusalem. Which one of those is real strength.

Half human, half divine. The manifestation of God in the flesh. How terrible it must’ve been to be crucified for telling the truth. To be needlessly slaughtered for the sake of people that want to see your organs fail as you slowly suffocate and bleed out. Father forgive them they do not know what they are doing.

I often wish I understood. I want to be able to walk into a church and feel god. I want to wear my Kairos cross without feeling like a liar. I don’t think religion was meant for people like me.

Jesus was not white. He didn’t have long flowing hair or a long beard. He was shorter than we think. Is it more disrespectful to put someone on a cross or to purposefully make their physical appearance more palatable for a racist audience.

Kairos may have been the closest I’ve ever been to experiencing god. For three days you sit in small groups and listen to people talk about their most traumatic experiences. Religious retreats are made to break you. To make you flood the earth with your tears. To make you turn to god because there’s no one else to turn to. I wish I could say with any level of certainty that my experience was real.

Love is such a funny idea. God “Loves” you. I still don’t understand the double standard of preaching love and then telling people they love wrong. I think there are bigger sins to worry about.

Matthew was a tax collector. One of the most sinful professions they lied, cheated, and stole from the poor. The Lord will not let the righteous go hungry, but will thwart the cravings of the wicked. I find “sinners” much more real than the righteous. At least sinners don’t go out of their way to tell everyone they sin.

No one in my philosophy of god class chose to walk away from Omelas. I remember it perfectly. You get to stay in a perfect city where everyone is happy, at the misfortune of one child. I spoke last. I would walk away. I still get chills thinking about it. I don't know why I made that choice.

Often my friends and I debate the existence of god. One philosopher said that you might as well because if you believe and god is real you gain everything, and if he isn't you lose nothing. But if you don't and he is real, you lose everything. We all know there's much more to religion than that. Simply believing in the omnipotent power that destroyed cities and flooded the earth has not, and will never be enough.

Prom was one of the most nerve wracking experiences of my life. I was the first person since my schools founding in 1957 to go to prom with someone of the same sex. That year three of my friends did the same. So much easier to just split the bill with a friend. I had to make a case for why I should be able to. Would the outcome have been different if I told them we were dating.

Questioning whether the omnipotent and all knowing being in the heavens that we cannot see, hear, smell, or touch is apparently against the rules. I got quite sick of the Lord’s Prayer.

Raining from the sky was blood. Thicker than water. Did it bring the people together or did it turn them against each other. The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb. Blood can bring people together, but I’m not sure it can wash you clean.

Sodom and Gomorrah were destroyed by sulfur and fire because of their wickedness. The two cities associated with homosexuality were burned to the ground. We have a history with fire. Fire cannot cleanse what isn’t dirty, but the ash will stain your hands for eternity.

Time stands still as I sit in the pews at my cousin's wedding. It seems like the hands on the clock are moving backwards. Instead of looking at them I stare at the sculpture of Jesus, crucified, blood coming out of his wounds, hanging roughly 10 feet above them. It isn’t alive. I’ve seen the same type of sculpture in a hundred different churches. But in this moment I can hear him gasping for breath. It was a beautiful service, I told her.

Uriel is the angel of repentance. In the Christian text the Apocalypse of Peter he is as pitiless as any demon. The devil himself was once an angel. What's the difference between angels and demons other than name.

Vanity was the reason the devil was cast from heaven. Born an angel and a king, free from sin he became proud of his beauty and intelligence and was struck down by God. I’m still unsure why he is considered the villain. Was it not God who leveled cities and murdered millions.

Without religion I’m unsure of what my life would look like. As hard as I try I cannot cleanly separate myself from it. Like a mouse stuck on a trap, when it gets free it either leaves its skin on the trap, or escapes covered in glue. I’m unsure if I can escape without leaving a part of myself behind, or taking something with me I did not ask for.

X appears 1,436 times in the King James version of the bible, but never at the start of the word. It is the only letter in the english alphabet that a verse does not start with.

Younger me used to enjoy church. I’m not sure why. I could never sit still, the sermons were boring, the pews were uncomfortable, and I couldn’t wait to go home. But without fail every Sunday I would wake up and get ready. I wish I could go back and tell myself that I don’t need to force myself into places I know I don't belong in order to be loved.

Zion shall be redeemed with judgment. I wonder if the same applies to me.

[locshar]

The White Princess Diaries - Ep 1 Part 3 - Don’t you wish it was him...

Having no choice in the marital maladies department - Dr Who invites Lizzie-Mini to a bit of a buffet – and there’s fruit and there is M&S fruit, but she is having none of it and -  Yahoo! - at last the crown has gone!  There is lots of innuendo about fillies and stallions and all I can glean from this is that Aneurard was a bit of a stud in bed.   Well of course he was!  Didn’t any of them watch TWQ if only for research purposes?  

 Caution – obligatory rape scene.  Or not. No one gets undressed, one sits on the bed – the other stands up - and there is about a nano second of grunting and he’s blathering on about being the king and even quotes the royal “we.” Or the royal ‘weeeeeeeeeee’

Someone cries – me actually - and that’s it – its over.  Its now all to see if she is fertile – spoiler alert – guess what is going to happen next…..

 Oh how I miss Anne Neville at times like this – remember the candles, the bolsters, the freckles, the burning bush…the small but big but small baby! Sigh.

 Who tells her he was thinking about Cob Face Cecily which is why he was only grunting for five seconds and not ten – and Lizzie-Mini gives him the best right hook I have seen in ages and I rewind so I can see it again and again.   And again. She storms off back to the Travelodge where Cecily is….bouncing on the bed…

 Mini Lizzie-ish says Dr Who is a bad man.  You are telling me?  He is also a twat…. And he can’t fight and doesn’t own any armour and even his horse ran away when he tried to hide under it…sorry – what plot? Oh – that one!

 Well Dr Who has put his leather pants back on and now Cecily is paying him a night time visit to try and get her hands on his family jewels – but he has taken his crown off so she can’t.  That makes her sulk even more.  Told you. Cob face!

 Grasper definitely needs to go on a diet but instead he is arranging to have Coronation Chicken – that’s the coronation of a chicken for those in the know (bock bock bock…)

 Grasper (Mk 2) has huge bags under his eyes.  Well that’s what you get for murdering people…serves you right – I hope your chicken chokes you – in Leicester!

 So – Lizzie-Mini has to have a child first before Who will marry her or invite her to have coronation chicken.   Jeez and they called Aneurard for fancying her pants off??  Now Dr Who is looking in the tower for the princes…ho! ho! ho!  Remember when poor Aneurard had to do that and he looked under every sheet and in ever cupboard and chest he could find in the one room…it took him all of…30 seconds not to find them.  But he did look bloody gorgeous whilst he was doing it.  But fear not!    Caitlyn Mags is going to do something - but I am not entirely sure what.

  Oh bloody hell – Lizzie-Mini is now wearing a crown – well more like half a crown.  And she’s getting a lecture from Caitlyn Stark who probably thinks Teddy is Tyrion so she wants him in the Tower.  We’ve been here before… don’t forget.  She’s now trying to make friends with Lizzie-Mini – God the woman must be desperate as she’s now whinging on about loyalty – something she has no contraception of.    She put Dr Who on the throne she says – well someone did because it wasn’t him and half the people who turned up on the battlefield have been claiming they killed Poor Aneurard and Dr Who certainly was not one of them.  He turned up in his Tardis after it was all finished!

 Now Madder by the Minute Mags is fore telling the future.   A boy will be born! (eh is she now Sisterbeth?)  and he will end the Cousins War (the what?) – and his name will be Edward – I saw it on a spoon once!

 Finally, the coronation – or something.   It’s the cheapest looking coronation parade I have ever seen – it looks more like the Cleethorpes Carnival.  Who travels on his own by horse and not a cloth of estate in sight and everyone has the same clothes on in the Travelodge so its good some things don’t change. Saves lugging a suitcase everywhere.  Cecily is bouncing on the bed again…..Dobby eat your heart out!

 The bells are ringing – which means Lizzie-Mini has to pay a visit to the toilet just in case she is pregnant …but as she has only been bonked by Who once and its all that soon as no one has any concept of time -  she could just as well be preggers by Aneurard than Chewdorwho. Ooh!  Idea! Could Aneurard turn up as his own son?  He does get younger every year so it is possible?  (scribbles note to Starz)

 Lizzie Mini now wants herbs for belly pain – I know the feeling!

 Nokia Ned gives Sisterbeth a ring – surprisingly no one has seen Perkin – er – Parkin at Turney…maybe he changed his mind and went to Disneyland.   The jewel is missing – its probably on Dr Who’s head. Or it could be the jewel in the Nile – or in denial!   The soldiers who went back to Yorkshire because they had lost their sat nav were told to slaughter any boys they found in WoodvilleLand.

Ahh Herod – don’t you wish you were here?

 Dr Who is wearing an embroidered smock round his neck to eat coronation chicken in – if only it were tighter!  Its like a big bib – but not a drool bib – obviously.

 Caitlyn aka Mad Mags Stark raving mad looks on.  Really - what are you doing in this series?  I just saw you in Fortitude! However,  I need some Fortitude as we are now at the coronation (again)  and I can see the chicken but no food.  Amusingly, Stanley is wearing a beret.  Has he become cosmopolitan and begun speaking  fraunch ce la vie?

 And of course there are no clergy so it is left to Lady Stark to shout out to the assembled extras - ”God and the BBC save Dr Who!”

 Now Margaret of Warwick has some Mandrake whereas I just have a headache. Lizzie-Mini still needs it to get rid of her belly pain – I want it to get rid of the past three years and see Aneurard again frankly.

 Useful Medieval NHS tip :–Mandrake gets rid of babies and gives you bad dreams. Any resemblance to real or actual drugs is purely coincidental.

 Lizzie-not so Mini soon – still wants Aneurard – and she’s still not alone there is she! I am only watching in a very faint, disappearing hope.

 Cecily is bouncing on the bed again – for God’s sake I hope I never get put in that Travelodge room – and suddenly Sisterbeth Queen has donuts in her hair like Princess Leia.  The fire – and the Werthers – are back and someone has peanut brittle as well so I have no idea what anyone is saying.  

 Lizzie-Mini-getting larger - asks Mumsy to kill the Tudors and I have to laugh now as the Queen of Tarts says she can’t kill anyone. What?  She killed the Yorks (and she is now calling herself a York) Is she confused, crazy or just reading a crap script?  So she says her spells are just pure luck really (Really?).  Lizzie - not so mini - must not blame her not yet big or small baby for being a Chewdor.  She has to make him tall and strong – just not fat and murdering like her grandson

 So after giving childrearing advice (from a woman who sent a five year old off on his own to sea) Sisterbeth slinkers off then to – oh make a spell with some mandrake then!

 Dr Who is happy cos he is having a child – it’s a miracle because a) he’s a bloke and b) he’s a bastard

 Lizzie - bigger by the minute - now wants a wedding more than anything.  Mad Caitlyn gets all ready to inform those who don’t understand this period by announcing that the baby will be a boy and will be named Arthur and will be christened in Winchester (where?)  

Hang on? Arthur?  Loud Splash as that bloody spoon gets thrown back in the river! But – hello! Aneurard – Arthureurard – there may be distinct possibilities here – we all know he can do  young – and ride a trike!

 Lizzie Major is getting her own wedding gown from Pradatagenet…purveyors of posh pregnancy plans to Plantagenet Princesses! It’s all ramping up now!

 Queen Sisterbeth nicks a hair from Mad Mags Stark as she flies past her on a broomstick and goes into a dark place to wind it around a bit of mandrake and summon up one of those spells which are only luck really and not a spell at all - honest Mr Witchfinder General!

 So – she makes Mad Starklyn see a ghostly white figure (yes – last seen walking next to Jon Snow) and wakes up shouting “Bring on the Wall!” Then she sees the White Walkers (priests to you) and the Red Wedding (oh sorry - that hasn’t happened yet….that’s at the end of the episode.)   And a creepy, strange figure scuttles across her bedroom and climbs into bed with her but – oh sigh of relief – its only Thomas Stanley.

 But a spooky, bloody mouthed child is looking in the window chanting that the male line of her family will die and Prince Richard of York will rise against her son.   Bloody hell – the script if foreshadowing like mad now – someone hide the Malmsey!  But then Mads wakes up and finds her nightmare has really begun as Stanley is in the nude. (not really but that would have been funny!)

 So – as she instantly knew that her dream was a product of Sisterbeth’s ‘luck’ because she saw the last series, Mrs Stark tells Dr Who that he has a heir – but no hair – but he has to lock Lizzie-Maxis mother away because she keeps nicking all the donuts to plaster to her ears. Oh – and she may be a witch.  

 Here we go - another bloody wedding.   At least she is under an umbrella.  She also brought with her some very big baps – so good news for the reception then! There are new clothes all around – sponsored by Horse of Fraser.

 Lizzie - extra plus sized - gets wed in Red – told you!  The Red Wedding!  She bemoans her lot and says she will fight for her brother to kill the monster that is Dr Who.  She may even rename him Dalek.  She will fight from within – which will be difficult whilst she already has a royal bun within the Plantagenet oven.

 But she is stoic.  She will be hidden and patient– and wait for her brother to rescue her.  I hate to tell her that she may have a long wait – he’s currently queuing up for a go on Pirates of the Caribbean!

 The wedding is all a bit hammy – I like a ham sandwich myself but who is the silent bloke in red and why is Grasper almost crying? It can only be that he has seen next weeks episode.

 And so to Bedtime – and some very sad music which we all know well.  Dr Who doesn’t want her and she doesn’t want him (well –she’s had Aneurard after all) Dr Who jumps out of bed holding his dagger (a real one - not a euphemism) and cuts her foot with a knife to keep her honour.  And so that his son is not a bastard.  Hard luck on that one mate!  If you nip forward in your Tardis to around 1538….

  I just wish they had used different bloody music as all I can see is shoulder freckles,  an nice beef-cheek and candles and bolsters….please help me!

 Now Lizzie not so mini is muttering something about H and P – HP Sauce? Tomato?  Is that what they used?  Cut to Truly Madly Magsy listening at the door – although why is anyones guess as he has already made her pregnant so what exactly is she listening for? Hoping he yells out Mummy?

 So that was it.  Did you get it?  Only Duchess Dyson had avoided the complete head and in some places body transformation. There was so much foreshadowing I half expected to see some plans lying around for a car park in Leicester…

 What will happen next….?  Well, the preview has an unknown man with a bow and arrow in a fetching blue cloak with a hood up so he looks more like Gandalf or one of the demon children in Citadel.  I wonder who that could be?  

 Let’s think…blue cloak, bow and arrow, in disguise…its bloody Robin Hood! The colourblind years!