Funny Guy Friday... Of popes and orange juice...

Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband Mark. So, I married a funny guy...
    When Matthew was six or seven years old, one day after church, we went to Cheryl's parents' home for brunch. My mother-in-law served us some juice and got us a plate of food. Matthew was uncharacteristically grumpy and out of sorts. I asked him what was bothering him, but he had no good answer.

     After a few minutes, I had had enough of his attitude and asked him to step into another room.  I asked him what was bothering him...

     I hate the Pope!

     What? You don't like the Pope?

     Nope.

     Why not?

     I dunno... I just don't like the Pope.

     The head of the Catholic Church... You don't like him? 

     No... not that guy... the stuff in the orange juice. 

     Okay... that is called pulp... and you can go get yourself some milk. 

     

     Problem solved. 

     Now I have my own Pope problem. He came to town and I was completely shut out. The Pope came to town and I did not get a sniff of the guy. No Masses, no speeches, no glimpse of His Holiness in his little Pope Mobile.
      No sir... I did not get the Willie Wonka ticket!
     And if Facebook is any indication, everyone else did get the golden ticket and had the opportunity to hang out with Il Papa.
     Seriously... friends, neighbors, and fellow parish members were all over the place,
     And you can say what you want about his agenda (which I will in a minute) but he makes himself available to the people. It got to the point that I thought that the folks were passing around the church's cardboard cutout of the guy.
     He even left all of those powerful politicians on the Senate floor and had breakfast with the homeless. My guess is that he wanted to go someplace quieter where people weren't begging him for money!
     Seriously, this dude is like a rock star playing venues in Washington, D.C., New York City, and Philadelphia. Like an old, slow talking, energetic rock star. Picture Mick Jagger with an accent... a Spanish accent, not his regular British one.
     I don't understand why I did not get selected to attend any of the three days' worth of events.  I attend church every week. I give money every week. I even run that stupid Labor Day Festival for the church every year. That has to be worth something.
     You know, I was even at the church the night that they picked out the lucky winners of the tickets to attend the Papal Mass. I specifically told them how to spell my last name. Still... nothing!
     It has to be Cheryl... clearly, she is not doing enough.
     Truth be told, it could be my fault. You see, the Pope and I don't see eye to eye on everything. Ever since he was selected, he has stopped consulting me on various issues. As a result, he has said some things that I do not agree with.
     Some folks tried to attribute these statements to "getting lost in translation." And I accepted that... the first time.  The third, fourth and fifth time, I came to my own conclusion that he really meant what he was saying.
     Now don't get me wrong, I am not out there declaring that the Emperor has no clothes. I am just saying that I don't like all of the clothes that he wears and... I wish that he would wear more of the clothes that I like.
     And I have to admit, I am really struggling with this.
     Like all Catholics, I go to confession once a week, er, uh month.... Okay I go about three or four times a year. One thing that I have discussed with the priest is that I get frustrated with things and want them to be the way that I want them. I am always reminded that it is not my will that shall be done but His will that shall be done.
     God has seen to it that this Pope will have this position at this time, and God has his own plan, whatever it may be. I just wish that the Pope was more direct about the life of the unborn when he spoke before Congress.... Dang it! There I go again!
     Truth be told, I am sure that in D.C., he made almost every politician squirm just a little bit and that's not such a bad thing.  
     God's plan will be revealed and I need to be open to whatever that plan may be. Pray for me. Pray for Pope Francis. 

     Please understand that unlike my son, I do not hate the Pope.
     But before I conclude I have to be completely honest about one thing. Although I am working on being less judgmental and open to God's will, I have to come clean on one thing...
     I am not that crazy about the pulp!

Funny Guy Friday... Of Popes and pools... March Madness is here...

     Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband Mark. So, I married a funny guy...

     What a wild couple of weeks.

     The Conclave got together and prayed about the selection of a worthy champion. They prayed for wisdom as they considered the many candidates. This time around, there was no clear cut favorite and the selection could have come from anywhere. Yes, there were your typical choices from the usual places, but this year was different. This year presented an opportunity to choose to deviate from the usual choices and perhaps select a humble underdog.
     The Cardinals had some difficult decisions to make. When the white smoke finally cleared, they went with a relatively unknown Jesuit. I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall. I can only guess as to what was going through their minds. Here is what I think may have happened.
     I am sure that they immediately rejected any devils, especially the Blue Devils (I am sure that they hate Duke as much as I do). Then they had to justify denying two Saints; of course I am referring to Saint Louis and Saint Mary's College. In the end, I believe that they selected Gonzaga, a private Roman Catholic university located in Spokane, Washington, and founded by a young Jesuit named Aloysius Gonzaga, to win this year's NCAA college basketball tournament.
     Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know that they also picked a Pope but how important is that? I mean... I watch the nightly news, and frankly, the Pope, apparently, is no longer relevant... which is kind of interesting because he gets blamed for a lot of stuff.
     Anyway, the American mainstream media thinks so little of the Catholic faith that they believe that the new Pope should have been a non-Catholic or at least a Catholic that doesn't really believe in any of that "Catholic stuff."
     This time of year, the Vatican should just hope and pray that they have a Pope that can dribble, shoot and defend the post.
     It is that time of year when everyone is filling out their brackets and trying to select this year's winner. With the field wide open, many, including the Cardinals, are looking for Divine intervention. I have been filling out brackets for more than twenty years with mixed results.
     When Cheryl and I were engaged, we had to go to a Pre-Cana retreat for a weekend at a local hotel. For those non-Catholics, that is a marriage class. Cheryl picked the weekend, and that should have been a clue that this marriage thing may not have been such a good idea... she picked the first weekend of the 1992 NCAA Tournament.
     Just so you don't think that I am over-emphasizing the significance of the weekend, sixty-four teams get narrowed down to thirty-two... leaving only 31 more games in the tournament. Each game was crucial to my bracket, and a final four team going down during this round would have killed my chances of winning.
     For instance, this year, if I had selected New Mexico to go to the final four (I had), and they were to have lost to Harvard in the first round (they did), I would have had very little chance of winning the pool. This weekend comes only once a year, and it is a crucial basketball weekend. We could have done Pre-Cana anytime, so please don't roll your eyes... I contemplated calling the marriage off.
     When we arrived, we were advised of the procedures for the retreat. Saturday and Sunday would each have five twenty minute talks covering various topics that newlyweds might face. After each talk, one person would go back to a room and spend twenty minutes writing down all of his thoughts on the topic. After writing for twenty minutes, the other person would join him in the room and the couple would discuss and compare their thoughts for another twenty minutes.
     Picture the heavens opening and light shining through the clouds.
     Picture choirs of angels singing.
     I was going to catch forty minutes of every hour's worth of play and nearly as important, the marriage was back on.
     Cheryl, of course, had a different view of the weekend. She wanted me to pay attention to the talks and concentrate on my writing assignment, and get this... she expected me to talk to her during that last twenty minute session. How was I supposed to watch the games and talk to her? There was no way. The marriage was off again.
     I tried to strike a compromise. I offered to pay extra special attention during the twenty minute talks, go back to my room for the second session...write down my thoughts while watching the games... and then feign interest in whatever Cheryl had to say while watching the games during that
last twenty minute session. I considered this a win, win!
     Cheryl, of course, had a different view of the weekend. She still wanted me to pay attention to the talks, and she still wanted me to concentrate on my writing assignment, and get this... she still expected me to talk to her during that last twenty minute session. You guessed it, the marriage was still off.
     Isn't it ironic... the Pre-Cana retreat that was supposed to bring us closer together was ruining our relationship.  
     Cheryl and I will celebrate our 21st anniversary in April so we did manage to come to a mutually agreeable resolution. I promised to pay attention to the talks. I promised to dutifully write down my thoughts. And I promised to pay attention to her when she came back to the room. No basketball.
     I learned a lot about a successful marriage that weekend, although none of my knowledge came from those silly talks. It came from realizing that Cheryl came first, before everything else. No basketball game, no matter how important, was more important than my new bride.
    Although, it almost came crashing down during the very last session. People were encouraged to write down their questions which were all thrown into a hat. The leaders then picked a random question and the group would enter into a discussion. The very first question was Did Indiana win? 
    Cheryl's head jerked in my direction, but I swore that I did not write that question... I knew that Indiana won because I watched the end of the game.
    Oops! So I did manage to watch a few minutes of the tournament. So what, what is she going to do about it... divorce me? It was March Madness. All should be forgiven.
    Okay, here is what I really learned that weekend: sometimes in order to have a happy marriage, every once in awhile, you have to look out for yourself.
     I think that the Cardinals would agree.
     Just so we are clear, that would be the Catholic Cardinals... not the Louisville Cardinals.