Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband Mark. So, I married a funny guy...
Here is the thing... I knew that I was going to marry Cheryl before I ever asked her out. I just had to confirm that she was not some kind of an axe murderer or something.
It took an odd set of circumstances to bring us together... but they did... and the rest... is history.
Twenty-two years ago, I was not Catholic, but I had made the decision to join the Catholic Church through the RCIA program. This was not as easy as you might think. I was aware of three Catholic churches in our town, and my first choice was St. Edwards. I had been going there for a few months and decided to take the spiritual plunge. I approached the priest and advised him of my intentions. I was sure that he would welcome me with open arms. Another sheep in the flock, as it were!
I must admit, his response was a bit surprising.
Hello Father. My name is Mark, and I want to become Catholic.
I am retiring soon and this is not a good time.
Terrific, well, I am really looking forward to... Huh? Wha...what did you say?
Yeah, I am retiring and there is no new RCIA class starting anytime soon.
Are they shutting the place down? Are they replacing you? Do you have any nuns I can talk to?
No, not really. It is just a bad time.
Any suggestions on how else I can join your little club?
Try Sacred Heart.
Thank you Father... enjoy your retirement. Alone... with no converts!
Okay. So Sacred Heart was not such a bad idea; I had good friends who went there.
At the time, Sacred Heart had two priests: an older crotchety guy and a young priest. My friends actually lifted weights with the young priest, so I had met him a time or two. It was a perfect fit. I decided to meet weekly with him, and I was sure that everything would work out just fine.
We decided that Wednesday evenings worked best for both of us.
First Wednesday, I was there and ready to go. Apparently, we were not as clear as I had thought because the priest failed to appear. I couldn't convert myself, so I tried to catch him at my friend's house later that week. Fortunately, he never forgot about his workouts, so he was there... on time... working out... at my friend's home/gym. He was very apologetic and was eager to reschedule.
No problem. We rescheduled for the following Wednesday. He gave me his phone number and told me to call him if he ever missed again.
I did not have to wait long to use his number because... surprise, surprise... he missed again the very next Wednesday. Not to worry, because this time, I had his number.
When I called the number that he gave me, I had the following conversation with the elder then-Pastor at Sacred Heart. You remember, the old crotchety guy.
Hello.
Hi, is Father Stack in?
No, who is this?
My name is Mark. I am trying to join the Church.
You are not even a parish member here, are you? You are not a member here, correct?
No, but I would like to be. At this point, I thought he was joking.
How did you get this number?
He gave it to me.
Don't ever call this number again.
Not a problem... would you please give him a message?
No, and don't ever call this number again.
Not a chance *click* of... that... happening... Father. Good bye.
Wow, who knew that it would be so hard to join the Catholic Church.
Undaunted... well a little daunted... I went to my third option, St. Pius.
I was welcomed into the St. Pius RCIA program with open arms... they didn't yell at me, and they showed up when they said they would. The problem was that I was not going to get the one on one that Sacred Heart offered (well okay, as it turned out, it was actually one on none). At St. Pius, I was going to be part of a class, and the class was going to run for several, and I do mean several, months. I joked that it would have taken me less time to actually become a priest.
So... this is where Cheryl entered the picture.
My RCIA group was assigned to attend the 9 a.m. Mass. We were seated in the front row every Sunday morning right near the folk group. I had a bird's eye view of this girl sneaking in the side door every Sunday at about 9:05. I recognized her from Junior High and High School. And although I had never spoken with her back in the day, I knew she was nice, and I could see that she was beautiful.
I also knew, from the very first Sunday I laid my eyes on her, that she was the girl I was going to marry.
She would come to a lot of the RCIA functions, which, in turn, inspired me to attend a lot of the RCIA functions. Functions that, quite honestly, I may have otherwise skipped. At the completion of our training, our entire RCIA class went on a retreat. On the last day of the retreat, we were surprised with letters from our family and various members of the church that had been supportive of our journey. I probably received more than thirty letters... but I kept only one.
The funny thing was that we were not even dating at the time. In fact, I was kinda, sorta, just a teensy weensy bit... dating a different girl at the time. So I had this minor detail of ending that relationship so I could date Cheryl. Although that other young lady would never believe me, I never dated Cheryl while I was dating her. I did what many men had done before me... I told that gal that it was best that we go our separate ways: I was not ready to get married.
Then I went out with Cheryl. And six weeks later, I was engaged. Okay, maybe I was ready to get married.
Six weeks. That is stupid crazy.
Our first date was in Annapolis, and it was clear to me over dinner that we would be on the fast track to marriage. By our second date, I had her ring size, and we both knew that this was a relationship that would last a lifetime. How could it fail? God had sent a retiring priest, a forgetful priest, an old curmudgeon of a priest, and a year-long RCIA program to plunk me right down in front of her... driving me right into her arms.
Not surprisingly, God knew exactly what He was doing.
There has never been one day in the past twenty-one years, that I ever doubted the decision to get married. Sure, there has been an occasional complaint about her procrastinating or being late, but I would do it all again... in a heartbeat. It was an easy decision twenty-one years ago, and it would be an even easier decision today.
Having said all that, I must say, I feel compelled to give a warning like the ones given at the end of some show where people do crazy stuff:
PLEASE DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME. THESE TWO ARE TRAINED PROFESSIONALS. GETTING ENGAGED AFTER SIX WEEKS OF DATING CAN BE HAZARDOUS TO YOUR HEALTH, YOUR LIFE AND YOUR MARRIAGE.
So, you might be wondering how we celebrated our anniversary this year.
Well, like most of our anniversaries, I was out coaching baseball... and Cheryl was volunteering at church. I barely saw her. No big deal, I am lucky enough to see her every day.
What do I see everyday? I see the nicest person that God has ever put on this earth. The only thing that matches her outward beauty is her inner beauty. She is a faithful friend, a loving daughter/daughter-in-law, a wonderful parent, a great wife, and a devoted servant to our Lord.
What I see is God's greatest gift to me.
I suppose with all that... I can get past the fact she sometimes procrastinates. Heck... I put off asking her to marry me for a whole six weeks.
Friday, April 26, 2013
Friday, April 19, 2013
Funny Guy Friday... This isn't as easy as it looks...
Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband Mark. So, I married a funny guy...
The way I work this Funny Guy Friday every week is pretty simple. Something happens during the week that I find to be humorous, and I spend a few days thinking about it while I am driving, watching TV, or maybe while I am taking a shower. There have even been nights when I lie in bed and chuckle in the middle of the night at the ridiculously funny ideas that I come up with.
Basically, whenever I have a free minute, I get to thinking about how I can turn a two minute event into an entire blog entry.
After receiving the necessary releases from that week's subject, I begin typing.
Obviously, I have too much free time on my hands.
Not this week though... no sir.
My week started off with a trial on Monday morning, followed by a meeting with a client to prepare for a hearing on Tuesday morning. After Tuesday's hearing, I began preparing for a trial that I had coming up on Friday. On Wednesday, I had two criminal cases in the morning and then traveled to a local school to interview another client who had a trial scheduled for Thursday. Wednesday afternoon, I met with the client whose trial was to be on Friday.
Thursday's trial went all morning and into the afternoon. During the breaks in the trial, I got on my phone in an effort to settle my case scheduled for all day on Friday. Those efforts resulted in a meeting with the judge who would eventually hear the case on Friday.
Oh, by the way, did I mention that I am coaching Matthew's baseball team and helping coach Noah's team. Monday night, Matthew had practice and on Tuesday, he had a game. Noah had a game on Wednesday and practice on Friday. You may be thinking that Thursday was open. Wrong. Matthew had practice.
You may also be thinking: he has a full time job, coaches two baseball teams and manages to write FGF every week. He is super human. If you were thinking that, you would be right. I kinda am.
Okay, so that was my week.
There has been an occasion or two when I have used this blog to poke a little fun at my lovely wife. I kid because I love.
Clearly, I love Cheryl... No question.
And in the process of poking fun at my wife, I may, sort of, in a round about way, elevate my achievements. Kind of... sort of... but not really.
Anyway, as a result of my fun-poking and self-aggrandizing, my lovely wife has threatened to guest write an FGF and poke fun at me. As if that were possible.
How hard can it be? You manage every week.
It is never hard when somebody else is doing it.
I bet Newton's wife probably said to him, how hard is this Physics stuff... things in motion tend to stay in motion blah blah blah. You go test your little actions and equal and opposite reactions while I homeschool the kids.
I advised Cheryl that I make this look easy and it is no small feat to come up with an idea week after week after week... after week.
By the way, I do believe that Physics is easy compared to what I do.
Because of my ridiculous schedule this week, I decided to take Cheryl up on her offer/threat. While getting ready for work on Wednesday, I asked the little Froggie to hop up on the log and croak out a column.
No problem.
What are you going to write about? I asked
I dunno. Do something stupid.
You can't ask somebody to do something stupid; it just happens... naturally.
Good, I should have something on you by the time you leave this morning.
I called Cheryl on my drive home on Wednesday to see if there were any ideas percolating around in her brain. Nothing.
I have come close to my Friday deadline on a rare occasion (every week) but I am a seasoned veteran and have always managed to pull something out of nothing. Cheryl is a novice. This was not good.
On Thursday, I could not call home because I was in court all day and then went directly to Matthew's practice.
However, on the drive home from practice, I again called home and asked Cheryl how FGF was coming.
Not good... I have not even started.
You do have some ideas don't you? You have to have something. My adoring public will want something. I have a Cal Ripken-like streak going and you can't blow this.
I can blow this because I am... DOING LAUNDRY!
Doing laundry! Really! Laundry! FGF is due out in less than twelve hours and now is the day she decides to do laundry.
If you are a regular reader of FGF, you know that laundry has been the bane of my existence. I have asked... nay, I have begged Cheryl to do a load of laundry a day for the past twenty one years. Just one load a day and the laundry will never pile up. Alas, my begging has fallen on deaf ears.
Who knew that all I had to do was ask Cheryl to write an FGF post in order to get the laundry done?
As a result of these recent developments, I will now request that Cheryl write a post similar to FGF every day of the week. Each day, she will ignore my request and do laundry. This is a foolproof plan.
So from now on, you can look forward to:
Mildly Amusing Monday with Mom
Tom Foolery Tuesday with Toots
Wacky Wednesday With Weezer
Thrilling Thursday with The Old Ball and Chain
Funny Guy Friday (we will keep this so you will actually have something to read once a week... while all my shirts are cleaning)
Silly Saturday with Sista' Cheryl
Sundays we fold! Er uh, I mean rest.
Life is good. I just settled my case for Friday.
I have clean shirts for the next few days... and a plan to keep Cheryl on top of the laundry.
But most importantly, my Ripken-like streak continues.
I do make this look easy.
Life is good.
The way I work this Funny Guy Friday every week is pretty simple. Something happens during the week that I find to be humorous, and I spend a few days thinking about it while I am driving, watching TV, or maybe while I am taking a shower. There have even been nights when I lie in bed and chuckle in the middle of the night at the ridiculously funny ideas that I come up with.
Basically, whenever I have a free minute, I get to thinking about how I can turn a two minute event into an entire blog entry.
After receiving the necessary releases from that week's subject, I begin typing.
Obviously, I have too much free time on my hands.
Not this week though... no sir.
My week started off with a trial on Monday morning, followed by a meeting with a client to prepare for a hearing on Tuesday morning. After Tuesday's hearing, I began preparing for a trial that I had coming up on Friday. On Wednesday, I had two criminal cases in the morning and then traveled to a local school to interview another client who had a trial scheduled for Thursday. Wednesday afternoon, I met with the client whose trial was to be on Friday.
Thursday's trial went all morning and into the afternoon. During the breaks in the trial, I got on my phone in an effort to settle my case scheduled for all day on Friday. Those efforts resulted in a meeting with the judge who would eventually hear the case on Friday.
Oh, by the way, did I mention that I am coaching Matthew's baseball team and helping coach Noah's team. Monday night, Matthew had practice and on Tuesday, he had a game. Noah had a game on Wednesday and practice on Friday. You may be thinking that Thursday was open. Wrong. Matthew had practice.
You may also be thinking: he has a full time job, coaches two baseball teams and manages to write FGF every week. He is super human. If you were thinking that, you would be right. I kinda am.
Okay, so that was my week.
There has been an occasion or two when I have used this blog to poke a little fun at my lovely wife. I kid because I love.
Clearly, I love Cheryl... No question.
And in the process of poking fun at my wife, I may, sort of, in a round about way, elevate my achievements. Kind of... sort of... but not really.
Anyway, as a result of my fun-poking and self-aggrandizing, my lovely wife has threatened to guest write an FGF and poke fun at me. As if that were possible.
How hard can it be? You manage every week.
It is never hard when somebody else is doing it.
I bet Newton's wife probably said to him, how hard is this Physics stuff... things in motion tend to stay in motion blah blah blah. You go test your little actions and equal and opposite reactions while I homeschool the kids.
I advised Cheryl that I make this look easy and it is no small feat to come up with an idea week after week after week... after week.
By the way, I do believe that Physics is easy compared to what I do.
Because of my ridiculous schedule this week, I decided to take Cheryl up on her offer/threat. While getting ready for work on Wednesday, I asked the little Froggie to hop up on the log and croak out a column.
No problem.
What are you going to write about? I asked
I dunno. Do something stupid.
You can't ask somebody to do something stupid; it just happens... naturally.
Good, I should have something on you by the time you leave this morning.
I called Cheryl on my drive home on Wednesday to see if there were any ideas percolating around in her brain. Nothing.
I have come close to my Friday deadline on a rare occasion (every week) but I am a seasoned veteran and have always managed to pull something out of nothing. Cheryl is a novice. This was not good.
On Thursday, I could not call home because I was in court all day and then went directly to Matthew's practice.
However, on the drive home from practice, I again called home and asked Cheryl how FGF was coming.
Not good... I have not even started.
You do have some ideas don't you? You have to have something. My adoring public will want something. I have a Cal Ripken-like streak going and you can't blow this.
I can blow this because I am... DOING LAUNDRY!
Doing laundry! Really! Laundry! FGF is due out in less than twelve hours and now is the day she decides to do laundry.
If you are a regular reader of FGF, you know that laundry has been the bane of my existence. I have asked... nay, I have begged Cheryl to do a load of laundry a day for the past twenty one years. Just one load a day and the laundry will never pile up. Alas, my begging has fallen on deaf ears.
Who knew that all I had to do was ask Cheryl to write an FGF post in order to get the laundry done?
As a result of these recent developments, I will now request that Cheryl write a post similar to FGF every day of the week. Each day, she will ignore my request and do laundry. This is a foolproof plan.
So from now on, you can look forward to:
Mildly Amusing Monday with Mom
Tom Foolery Tuesday with Toots
Wacky Wednesday With Weezer
Thrilling Thursday with The Old Ball and Chain
Funny Guy Friday (we will keep this so you will actually have something to read once a week... while all my shirts are cleaning)
Silly Saturday with Sista' Cheryl
Sundays we fold! Er uh, I mean rest.
Life is good. I just settled my case for Friday.
I have clean shirts for the next few days... and a plan to keep Cheryl on top of the laundry.
But most importantly, my Ripken-like streak continues.
I do make this look easy.
Life is good.
Monday, April 15, 2013
Simon Peter… Do you love me…
This is a reprint from a post I wrote a few years ago. I wrote it from Peter's point of view. I thought it worth another look. May the peace of Christ be always in your hearts and in your homes.
After Jesus had revealed himself to his disciples and eaten breakfast with them, he said to Simon Peter, “Simon, son of John, do you love me more than these?” Simon Peter answered him, “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Feed my lambs.” He then said to Simon Peter a second time, “Simon, son of John, do you love me?” Simon Peter answered him, “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.” He said to him, “Tend my sheep.” He said to him the third time, “Simon, son of John, do you love me?” Peter was distressed that he had said to him a third time, “Do you love me?” and he said to him, “Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Feed my sheep." ~ John 21:15-17My name is Simon Peter. I have been fishing all night and have come up empty. I feel empty. What am I going to do? I can't stop thinking about it. Just days ago, I did just about the worst thing you can do to a friend. Let alone your best friend. And it happened just as He had said it would. I cursed, and I swore I didn't even know Him. He had shared his knowledge and his wisdom with me. He said I was the rock, upon which He would build his church. I had watched Him do amazing things. Miracles. I had promised that even if everyone else forsook Him, my faith would not be shaken. But I was weak. I was so afraid. I still can't believe it. I turned my back on Him.
I remember the first time I met Him. I was here fishing. He told me to go back out and put my net back over and try again. I remember thinking, what's the use? But I learned that day to humbly trust in Him. That was a lesson I would have to learn again and again.
Wait.... Who is that on shore? At his very Word, our nets are overflowing once again. John says it's the Lord.
Wait.... Who is that on shore? At his very Word, our nets are overflowing once again. John says it's the Lord.
Jesus? Here? Could it be? Oh, Lord... I want to be close to You again.
I leap into this once fearful sea, and I swim as fast as I can. Thrashing through the water just to be with Him again. One more chance to be near Him. And there He stands, offering me His company, once again, in the breaking of the bread. I approach Him. I am so sorry. I cannot say it out loud. Please forgive me. I am flawed. I am weak. I am sorry.
Then He speaks. Simon, do you love me more than these? He asks... using the word agape... which means unconditional, sacrificial love. The way He loves. I am humbled. I don't think I am capable of love like His. No more boasting. I am imperfect. I say, Yes, Lord, You know that I love You... but I use the word phileo, meaning brotherly love. Earthly love. Imperfect love. It's all I have. I am not He. After last weekend, we both know I may not ever love that way. I am human. He is God. But He tells me to feed his lambs anyway.
He asks me a second time, Do you love me? I say again, Yes, Lord, You know that I love You. He says, Tend my sheep. Once more, he asks me if I love Him. We are face to face. His eyes are so kind. I feel so guilty. I swore I would never deny Him, and I did it three times... when He needed me the most. Well, I need Him now. I am lost without Him. I simply say, Lord, You know everything. You know that I love you. That is enough for Him.
The sun is shining now. I start to feel better. Three times. I love You Lord. I do. I do. A second chance. He is still my friend. He will never deny me. He has given me a gift. And He has given me a task. Feed my sheep.
Even if my love isn't the perfect love of the Father or his Son, it's enough to do His work. I am enough for Him. I love Him. And I will ever strive to love as He loves. I will do my best to feed his sheep. He still trusts me. Even though I let Him down. He promises to empower me. I know what I must do. My life will never be the same again.
Then He speaks. Simon, do you love me more than these? He asks... using the word agape... which means unconditional, sacrificial love. The way He loves. I am humbled. I don't think I am capable of love like His. No more boasting. I am imperfect. I say, Yes, Lord, You know that I love You... but I use the word phileo, meaning brotherly love. Earthly love. Imperfect love. It's all I have. I am not He. After last weekend, we both know I may not ever love that way. I am human. He is God. But He tells me to feed his lambs anyway.
He asks me a second time, Do you love me? I say again, Yes, Lord, You know that I love You. He says, Tend my sheep. Once more, he asks me if I love Him. We are face to face. His eyes are so kind. I feel so guilty. I swore I would never deny Him, and I did it three times... when He needed me the most. Well, I need Him now. I am lost without Him. I simply say, Lord, You know everything. You know that I love you. That is enough for Him.
The sun is shining now. I start to feel better. Three times. I love You Lord. I do. I do. A second chance. He is still my friend. He will never deny me. He has given me a gift. And He has given me a task. Feed my sheep.
Even if my love isn't the perfect love of the Father or his Son, it's enough to do His work. I am enough for Him. I love Him. And I will ever strive to love as He loves. I will do my best to feed his sheep. He still trusts me. Even though I let Him down. He promises to empower me. I know what I must do. My life will never be the same again.
Friday, April 12, 2013
Funny Guy Friday... Don't scam the Gram...
Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband Mark. So, I married a funny guy...
I was in a meeting when I received a call from my mother. I was supposed to meet her for lunch the previous day and forgot, so I assumed that she was calling me to reschedule a new lunch date. I did not accept the call, intending to call her back as soon as my meeting was over.
A few minutes later, I received a call from my sister Sheree. My mother lives in a house that is located on Sheree's property. This had me thinking that there was a problem, so I interrupted my meeting and took the call.
My sister explained that my mother had received a call from someone claiming to be my nephew Sam, who attends grad school in Pennsylvania. He said he had been arrested and was trying to get a bond of $1,800 posted so he could get released. He was very sad and swore my mother to secrecy. Poor ol' Sam reported that he was in a vehicle that contained illegal drugs. They had been stopped by the police and they were all arrested and charged with distributing drugs. After telling his tale of woe, Sam placed the "authorities" on the phone. They proceeded to tell my mother what she needed to do to send the money.
My mother, ignoring Sam's request for secrecy, immediately became flustered and called for my sister. Sheree spoke to the gentleman and then called me.
Now, let's play a game called....What is wrong with this picture?
My nephew Sam is one of the smartest people you could ever meet. Sam is majoring in archeaology. He is going to school so he can grow up and be Indiana Jones. I am not kidding... he is going to be Indiana Jones. He has been on "digs" in several states and in Italy. He speaks Spanish and Italian. In fact, I think he met his current girlfriend when she blinked and had "I love you" tattooed to her eye lids. If he were to be arrested, it would not be for dealing drugs but for pilfering some artifact from some stupid museum. When I explained that to my mother she commented... He didn't sound like himself; he sounded like he might just be on drugs.
Now I am not saying that smart people can't get arrested for drugs, but real smart people would not do certain things.
First, smart people would not call my mother for help posting a bond. My mother is, for lack of a better description, a panicker. In this situation, her first reaction was to get mad at me for not being there for lunch. I later explained that I was not supposed to be there for lunch, that was the day before. Didn't matter, she was mad at me. How can you post a bond when you are busy blaming your youngest... and cutest kid... for missing a lunch date twenty four hours prior?
Second, smart people would know that you could never swear my mother to secrecy. As soon as she could, in the course of her conversation with the "authorities" on her home phone, my mother got on her cell phone and called my sister. This was no small feat considering that my mother is electronically challenged. She has trouble answering calls on her cell phone under the best of conditions. Here, one of her beautiful grand babies was looking at hard time and she had the wherewithal to assess blame to me and call my sister.
Third, smart people do not call my mother and expect her to wire funds. That process would have taken weeks if not months. Poor Sam would have had a trial, been sentenced and served his time before Grandma Bail Bondsman got to the bank and wired the money.
Sam would have known all of this.
Here is something else that Sam would have known.
He would have known that my sister Sheree was going to get involved. My mother told me that Sheree walked into her house with a smile on her face, eager to enter into the fray. She got on the phone and explained that if, in fact, Sam were arrested for drugs, perhaps he, and society as a whole, would be better served if he remained in jail. Sheree was having none of it. She got a number to call and then called me.
Once I got involved, I quickly sniffed out a scam. Okay, Sheree sniffed it out first, but I would have, had I blown off my meeting and taken my mother's original call.
Then I called Sam. No answer.
Hmmm, maybe Sheree is wrong about this scam and the boy really is in the hoosegow. Perhaps, just perhaps, he has decided to take his smarty-pants self and head up a profitable criminal enterprise. I never trusted Sam and voted him Most Likely Nephew to get Busted. My poor mother's heart will be broken when she hears this. $1,800 isn't enough of a bond. Let the little ne'er-do-well rot in jail!
Then Sam called me back. Forget what I just wrote.
He was worried because he had received calls from Aunt Sheree and from Uncle Mark. I told him about the phone call my mother had received and how I knew it was a scam right from the start. Heck, no Judge would ever set a measly $1,800 bond for a drug dealer.
I told him that I know that he is a good boy and would never get involved in these types of shenanigans. I further advised him that I would talk to Aunt Sheree because she was not so sure it was a scam.... that she always suspected that he was up to no good. I told him that I would try to smooth things over with her and try to get her to apologize. But let's just keep that between us.
So, what have we learned?
First, there are bad guys out there trying to take advantage of older folks.
Second, these people stink and there is a special place in hell for them.
Third. if you really do get arrested for selling drugs and you need to get someone to post a bond, don't call my sister Sheree.
I was in a meeting when I received a call from my mother. I was supposed to meet her for lunch the previous day and forgot, so I assumed that she was calling me to reschedule a new lunch date. I did not accept the call, intending to call her back as soon as my meeting was over.
A few minutes later, I received a call from my sister Sheree. My mother lives in a house that is located on Sheree's property. This had me thinking that there was a problem, so I interrupted my meeting and took the call.
My sister explained that my mother had received a call from someone claiming to be my nephew Sam, who attends grad school in Pennsylvania. He said he had been arrested and was trying to get a bond of $1,800 posted so he could get released. He was very sad and swore my mother to secrecy. Poor ol' Sam reported that he was in a vehicle that contained illegal drugs. They had been stopped by the police and they were all arrested and charged with distributing drugs. After telling his tale of woe, Sam placed the "authorities" on the phone. They proceeded to tell my mother what she needed to do to send the money.
My mother, ignoring Sam's request for secrecy, immediately became flustered and called for my sister. Sheree spoke to the gentleman and then called me.
Now, let's play a game called....What is wrong with this picture?
My nephew Sam is one of the smartest people you could ever meet. Sam is majoring in archeaology. He is going to school so he can grow up and be Indiana Jones. I am not kidding... he is going to be Indiana Jones. He has been on "digs" in several states and in Italy. He speaks Spanish and Italian. In fact, I think he met his current girlfriend when she blinked and had "I love you" tattooed to her eye lids. If he were to be arrested, it would not be for dealing drugs but for pilfering some artifact from some stupid museum. When I explained that to my mother she commented... He didn't sound like himself; he sounded like he might just be on drugs.
Now I am not saying that smart people can't get arrested for drugs, but real smart people would not do certain things.
First, smart people would not call my mother for help posting a bond. My mother is, for lack of a better description, a panicker. In this situation, her first reaction was to get mad at me for not being there for lunch. I later explained that I was not supposed to be there for lunch, that was the day before. Didn't matter, she was mad at me. How can you post a bond when you are busy blaming your youngest... and cutest kid... for missing a lunch date twenty four hours prior?
Second, smart people would know that you could never swear my mother to secrecy. As soon as she could, in the course of her conversation with the "authorities" on her home phone, my mother got on her cell phone and called my sister. This was no small feat considering that my mother is electronically challenged. She has trouble answering calls on her cell phone under the best of conditions. Here, one of her beautiful grand babies was looking at hard time and she had the wherewithal to assess blame to me and call my sister.
Third, smart people do not call my mother and expect her to wire funds. That process would have taken weeks if not months. Poor Sam would have had a trial, been sentenced and served his time before Grandma Bail Bondsman got to the bank and wired the money.
Sam would have known all of this.
Here is something else that Sam would have known.
He would have known that my sister Sheree was going to get involved. My mother told me that Sheree walked into her house with a smile on her face, eager to enter into the fray. She got on the phone and explained that if, in fact, Sam were arrested for drugs, perhaps he, and society as a whole, would be better served if he remained in jail. Sheree was having none of it. She got a number to call and then called me.
Once I got involved, I quickly sniffed out a scam. Okay, Sheree sniffed it out first, but I would have, had I blown off my meeting and taken my mother's original call.
Then I called Sam. No answer.
Hmmm, maybe Sheree is wrong about this scam and the boy really is in the hoosegow. Perhaps, just perhaps, he has decided to take his smarty-pants self and head up a profitable criminal enterprise. I never trusted Sam and voted him Most Likely Nephew to get Busted. My poor mother's heart will be broken when she hears this. $1,800 isn't enough of a bond. Let the little ne'er-do-well rot in jail!
Then Sam called me back. Forget what I just wrote.
He was worried because he had received calls from Aunt Sheree and from Uncle Mark. I told him about the phone call my mother had received and how I knew it was a scam right from the start. Heck, no Judge would ever set a measly $1,800 bond for a drug dealer.
I told him that I know that he is a good boy and would never get involved in these types of shenanigans. I further advised him that I would talk to Aunt Sheree because she was not so sure it was a scam.... that she always suspected that he was up to no good. I told him that I would try to smooth things over with her and try to get her to apologize. But let's just keep that between us.
So, what have we learned?
First, there are bad guys out there trying to take advantage of older folks.
Second, these people stink and there is a special place in hell for them.
Third. if you really do get arrested for selling drugs and you need to get someone to post a bond, don't call my sister Sheree.
Friday, April 5, 2013
Funny Guy Friday... What's so funny about Good Friday?
Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband Mark. So, I married a funny guy...
I hope that everyone had a blessed Holy Week. I know that we did.
It started with Spy Wednesday.
What's that? You've never heard of Spy Wednesday? Good, because neither had I until this year.
Spy Wednesday is a fake part of Holy Week made up by my lovely wife... or maybe her friend Sam. As you may know, it was on Wednesday that Judas accepted the silver in exchange for double-crossing Jesus.
From the looks of things, you call to mind Spy Wednesday by dressing up like spies, complete with black outfits and sunglasses; you know, just like old Judas did way back when. Apparently, you are supposed to be mindful not to be duplicitous in your own life. But, I must admit, the kids looked pretty cool all decked out in their spy gear.
After that, we eased our way into Holy Thursday, or as I refer to it, the Longest Mass of the Year Thursday. That moniker is certainly not intended as a negative, just an observation that the Mass is long. It has to be, because there is just so much going on.
First, there is a regular Mass, complete with two choirs, washing of the feet, and a grand installation of the new altar servers. If that isn't enough, we end the whole shebang with hundreds of parishioners in a silent Eucharistic procession up about a hundred stairs to the chapel on the hill. Two and a half hours of a sublime, super sacred service to get our hearts ready for Easter.
Every Holy Thursday I am reminded of the time that I was selected to have my feet washed. It was more than twenty years ago when I was part of an RCIA program coming into the church. I was asked by the RCIA leader, if I wouldn't mind having my feet washed by the priest on Holy Thursday.
Of course, I did not mind; and of course, there was no way that I was going into that with dirty feet. I must have scrubbed my feet three or four times before that Mass, donning new socks just in case I missed a spot. Washing was the last thing that the Priest had to do to my feet.
In fact, my feet were so clean, that you could have eaten off of them. I am not saying that you would have wanted to... I'm just saying that you could have... if you'd wanted to.
After Holy Thursday, comes... you guessed it... Good Friday.
Besides Easter, Good Friday may be the holiest day of the Lenten season. Every year, we attend the Stations of the Cross. If you are a regular reader of FGF, you know that we have our regular pew, in our regular section of the church... the late section.
On this particular Friday, Matthew was serving, so we arrived extra early. Instead of heading to the late section, Cheryl picked a different locale... the last pew of the church, in the middle, right near where the priest and the altar servers begin their procession. I was very uncomfortable in this new section, but I obliged and took my seat. I was at the end of the pew and Cheryl was in the middle.
The church is pretty austere on Good Friday, with the crucifix and the statues of the Holy Family all covered with purple cloth. It is a solemn time.
Who knew that the priest announces the start of the Stations by knocking on the back of the last pew? He approached the pew where Cheryl was sitting and as he bent down with his arm extended, readying himself to begin, it happened. Cheryl reached out and gave him a fist bump. That's right boys and girls... instead of being mindful of the most solemn hour of the year... Cheryl thought that the priest was getting fired up for the Stations of the Cross. The rest of us were preparing our hearts for Jesus' crucifixion, and apparently Cheryl was preparing for a baseball game. I could have sworn I heard her say:
Whadda ya say babe, have a day up there. Stay hot, stay hot, now. Whadda ya say, bud!
Yeah, yeah, yeah... It was a simple misunderstanding.
Now if I had done something like that, I would have been distraught. I would have spent the entire Stations praying that nobody saw my little fist bump with the priest. While alone in the car, I would have screamed at myself like a child:
I am such an idiot! Why would the priest fist bump me! Me... of all people... the village idiot. Dumb Dumb Dumb Dumb Dumb! I ought to fist bump my own face!
Cheryl, on the other hand, embraces the story and tells anyone that will listen. I just wish she would take herself a little bit more seriously so I could make fun of her by telling this story! What fun is it if she laughs along? In her most sing-songy voice, she chuckles and says,
I know, isn't that funny? Why would he be fist bumping me on Good Friday? What will we do next... a chest bump on his way down the aisle at the end of a good homily? hee hee hee ha ha ha.
Whatever.
Once, during an administrative hearing, I was making the point that my client's actions were an aberration, but instead, I said that his actions were an abomination. I did not sleep for a week. Why can't she be more like I?
The next day, on Holy Saturday, we had no plans to attend church, but then a very good friend advised he was becoming a Catholic at the Easter Vigil at his own church that evening. Cheryl immediately volunteered that we had nothing going on and that we wouldn't miss it. As they left, she was reminded by... well... by everyone else in the family... that we were already going to my nephew's birthday dinner that evening. We actually bought a gift and everything.
Change of plans. Cheryl and Grace would attend the Vigil, and the boys and I would hit the party scene.
Now, I did not attend the Vigil, so I can only report what I was told.
It was an enjoyable ceremony. Bilingual. Complete with a Mariachi Band. I had never heard of a Mariachi Band at a Catholic Mass, and now I'm worried that our church might add yet another to the manifold choirs we already have... and further prolong those Epiphany Masses.
I will say that the Vigil Mass made quite an impression on Cheryl. For three days, she walked around the house singing classic Easter songs to the tunes of La Cucaracha and the Mexican Hat Dance!
We ended the week with Easter Sunday. Every Easter Sunday, I lament the fact that we have to leave forty minutes early to get a seat... even in the late section. I guess I should be joyful that people are attending Mass, but I'm usually not. I leave that up to Cheryl... everything is joyful to her. Fist bumps... Mariachi Bands... self-deprecating stories all come to mind. Anyway, I was a bit frosty that we had to cut our egg hunt short to get ready for church.
I became further agitated when all the newcomers didn't know the words to the prayers. About a year ago, the church decided to tweak the words to many of the regular prayers. Despite four weeks of explanation from our pastor about why they made these changes, I am still in the dark. Something about something and blah blah blah. Here is what I know... changes were made and I had more stuff to memorize.
Well, if you have not attended Mass since last Easter you may not be aware of the changes. As a
result, you say the old prayers and in the process, you confuse people like me. Midway through the blessed Easter Mass, I turned to Cheryl and said, It is amateur hour here at Sacred Heart.
Either my wife agreed... or it just struck her as funny... or she simply found joy in my comment. She burst out in laughter. Half the church singing and also with you while the other half is singing and with your spirit.
At this point, I was hoping the Mariachi Band would make a grand entrance and bring some order back to the Mass.
We finished up the day by hosting family and friends with a wonderful Easter dinner at our house, complete with grilled lamb and a fun-filled Easter egg hunt for the kids.
Cheryl and I lay in bed that night unable to recall the last time we had had such a wonderful Easter weekend. I thought it the perfect moment to draw her close. Tenderly, I reached for her. I extended my arm, and naturally... she fist bumped me. Of course, she did.
It was just a simple misunderstanding.
I hope that everyone had a blessed Holy Week. I know that we did.
It started with Spy Wednesday.
What's that? You've never heard of Spy Wednesday? Good, because neither had I until this year.
Spy Wednesday is a fake part of Holy Week made up by my lovely wife... or maybe her friend Sam. As you may know, it was on Wednesday that Judas accepted the silver in exchange for double-crossing Jesus.
From the looks of things, you call to mind Spy Wednesday by dressing up like spies, complete with black outfits and sunglasses; you know, just like old Judas did way back when. Apparently, you are supposed to be mindful not to be duplicitous in your own life. But, I must admit, the kids looked pretty cool all decked out in their spy gear.
After that, we eased our way into Holy Thursday, or as I refer to it, the Longest Mass of the Year Thursday. That moniker is certainly not intended as a negative, just an observation that the Mass is long. It has to be, because there is just so much going on.
First, there is a regular Mass, complete with two choirs, washing of the feet, and a grand installation of the new altar servers. If that isn't enough, we end the whole shebang with hundreds of parishioners in a silent Eucharistic procession up about a hundred stairs to the chapel on the hill. Two and a half hours of a sublime, super sacred service to get our hearts ready for Easter.
Every Holy Thursday I am reminded of the time that I was selected to have my feet washed. It was more than twenty years ago when I was part of an RCIA program coming into the church. I was asked by the RCIA leader, if I wouldn't mind having my feet washed by the priest on Holy Thursday.
Of course, I did not mind; and of course, there was no way that I was going into that with dirty feet. I must have scrubbed my feet three or four times before that Mass, donning new socks just in case I missed a spot. Washing was the last thing that the Priest had to do to my feet.
In fact, my feet were so clean, that you could have eaten off of them. I am not saying that you would have wanted to... I'm just saying that you could have... if you'd wanted to.
After Holy Thursday, comes... you guessed it... Good Friday.
Besides Easter, Good Friday may be the holiest day of the Lenten season. Every year, we attend the Stations of the Cross. If you are a regular reader of FGF, you know that we have our regular pew, in our regular section of the church... the late section.
On this particular Friday, Matthew was serving, so we arrived extra early. Instead of heading to the late section, Cheryl picked a different locale... the last pew of the church, in the middle, right near where the priest and the altar servers begin their procession. I was very uncomfortable in this new section, but I obliged and took my seat. I was at the end of the pew and Cheryl was in the middle.
The church is pretty austere on Good Friday, with the crucifix and the statues of the Holy Family all covered with purple cloth. It is a solemn time.
Who knew that the priest announces the start of the Stations by knocking on the back of the last pew? He approached the pew where Cheryl was sitting and as he bent down with his arm extended, readying himself to begin, it happened. Cheryl reached out and gave him a fist bump. That's right boys and girls... instead of being mindful of the most solemn hour of the year... Cheryl thought that the priest was getting fired up for the Stations of the Cross. The rest of us were preparing our hearts for Jesus' crucifixion, and apparently Cheryl was preparing for a baseball game. I could have sworn I heard her say:
Whadda ya say babe, have a day up there. Stay hot, stay hot, now. Whadda ya say, bud!
Yeah, yeah, yeah... It was a simple misunderstanding.
Now if I had done something like that, I would have been distraught. I would have spent the entire Stations praying that nobody saw my little fist bump with the priest. While alone in the car, I would have screamed at myself like a child:
I am such an idiot! Why would the priest fist bump me! Me... of all people... the village idiot. Dumb Dumb Dumb Dumb Dumb! I ought to fist bump my own face!
Cheryl, on the other hand, embraces the story and tells anyone that will listen. I just wish she would take herself a little bit more seriously so I could make fun of her by telling this story! What fun is it if she laughs along? In her most sing-songy voice, she chuckles and says,
I know, isn't that funny? Why would he be fist bumping me on Good Friday? What will we do next... a chest bump on his way down the aisle at the end of a good homily? hee hee hee ha ha ha.
Whatever.
Once, during an administrative hearing, I was making the point that my client's actions were an aberration, but instead, I said that his actions were an abomination. I did not sleep for a week. Why can't she be more like I?
The next day, on Holy Saturday, we had no plans to attend church, but then a very good friend advised he was becoming a Catholic at the Easter Vigil at his own church that evening. Cheryl immediately volunteered that we had nothing going on and that we wouldn't miss it. As they left, she was reminded by... well... by everyone else in the family... that we were already going to my nephew's birthday dinner that evening. We actually bought a gift and everything.
Change of plans. Cheryl and Grace would attend the Vigil, and the boys and I would hit the party scene.
Now, I did not attend the Vigil, so I can only report what I was told.
It was an enjoyable ceremony. Bilingual. Complete with a Mariachi Band. I had never heard of a Mariachi Band at a Catholic Mass, and now I'm worried that our church might add yet another to the manifold choirs we already have... and further prolong those Epiphany Masses.
I will say that the Vigil Mass made quite an impression on Cheryl. For three days, she walked around the house singing classic Easter songs to the tunes of La Cucaracha and the Mexican Hat Dance!
We ended the week with Easter Sunday. Every Easter Sunday, I lament the fact that we have to leave forty minutes early to get a seat... even in the late section. I guess I should be joyful that people are attending Mass, but I'm usually not. I leave that up to Cheryl... everything is joyful to her. Fist bumps... Mariachi Bands... self-deprecating stories all come to mind. Anyway, I was a bit frosty that we had to cut our egg hunt short to get ready for church.
I became further agitated when all the newcomers didn't know the words to the prayers. About a year ago, the church decided to tweak the words to many of the regular prayers. Despite four weeks of explanation from our pastor about why they made these changes, I am still in the dark. Something about something and blah blah blah. Here is what I know... changes were made and I had more stuff to memorize.
Well, if you have not attended Mass since last Easter you may not be aware of the changes. As a
result, you say the old prayers and in the process, you confuse people like me. Midway through the blessed Easter Mass, I turned to Cheryl and said, It is amateur hour here at Sacred Heart.
Either my wife agreed... or it just struck her as funny... or she simply found joy in my comment. She burst out in laughter. Half the church singing and also with you while the other half is singing and with your spirit.
At this point, I was hoping the Mariachi Band would make a grand entrance and bring some order back to the Mass.
We finished up the day by hosting family and friends with a wonderful Easter dinner at our house, complete with grilled lamb and a fun-filled Easter egg hunt for the kids.
Cheryl and I lay in bed that night unable to recall the last time we had had such a wonderful Easter weekend. I thought it the perfect moment to draw her close. Tenderly, I reached for her. I extended my arm, and naturally... she fist bumped me. Of course, she did.
It was just a simple misunderstanding.
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