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on this rock I will build my church
We went over the papers from the lawyer just now. Legalese is fun. The only one that really stumped us was "choses in action." Anyone? Our best guess was it's things that aren't actually yours but you have some legitimate interest in, like if you were about to foreclose on the Cratchetts' house or Lord Goryon owed you Cornillo's next calf.
Spent the evening cleaning room. I'm out of bookshelf again. Why does this always happen to me? It's a curse, I tell you. And I found the XF dvds; I had, of course, put them carefully away where they wouldn't get lost the last time I cleaned. Also, crystallized milk! I didn't even know milk *could* crystallize. Perhaps it was actually the mold growth patterns mimicking the appearance of mineral evaporite. Hey, either way, very cool.
I cooked, too. I don't know why people are always convinced I can't cook. Pisketti for dinner! Mom was sufficiently occupied playing minesweeper that I got almost halfway done before she couldn't resist coming up and telling me what I was doing wrong. Like using the glass saucepan instead of the metal one she's always used for spaghetti. Oh, she's really nice about it, and I learn a lot, but that is why I rarely cook: It doesn't really make sense, if she's going to have to be hovering about in the kitchen anyway. Dad's mother was like that too; the parents used to comment on it. Which is odd, because Mom's mother was very definitely capable of curling up with a romance novel while her kids did all the work. I cooked blond brownies for church social hour, too, at Mom's request. Since her recipe is always a little too cakey for me, Iaccidentally left out a quarter-cup of flour, added too many white chocolate chips, and didn't cook them quite done. Got a lot of lovely comments about how good they were, rich and almost candy-like and different in a good way from anything they'd seen before. So the recipe alterations were on purpose. Of course.
Oh, right, today was the annual congregational meeting at church. Is it only Protestant Christians who have to endure annual congregational meetings? At any rate, the endless unproductive budget discussions give me a quite unwanted sympathy for Congress. Well, at least we made quorum this year. I had a nice nap for most of it. Trippy dreams. Mom had also volunteered me to run the food table, since she got stuck as council secretary again, although so many people decided to bring a little something, not to mention Mom going overboard, that it ended up being more like an old-fashioned Feast of Love than a coffee hour. We even had hot soup. I mostly poured punch, our famous Our Redeemer punch recipe: One bottle Hawaiian Punch, fill rest of punch bowl with cheap ginger ale. I frequently end up serving the punch, whenever WELCA's doing cofee hour, or Mom is, or nobody signed up. It makes me feel like a beautiful maiden from a Scandinavian or Anglo-Saxon myth, the sort who are known across seven kingdoms for their skill at pouring drink. Well, my pouring style is *memorable*, at least.
Sundays are dangerous. First I get Pastor's sermon, which is usually tied into current events, and the discussion afterward, and then Mom turns on Prairie Home Companion or Car Talk and I end up listening to NPR public affairs shows all afternoon and getting ranty about politics. Lately this of course makes me angry and depressed as well. The theme today seemed to be politics and religion. Church and state. Did you know my Pentecostal, revivalist great-grandfather walked out for good on the church he built with his own hands just because the pastor once preached about Prohibition? It was the foundation of his faith that politics and church don't belong together.
Also, forget about prayer in schools: Dubya and the Republican Congress we elected have now made it *illegal* to pray for people in church. Yep, that was a hot topic at the congregational meeting: IANAL, but apparently it's come down from above that the new medical privacy laws make it too legally risky for the pastor to pray out loud for sick people during service, or for the women to pass along a list of names to pray for. He has to either get their explicit permission to do so, or use first names as the only identification. Me, I'm all for anything that makes the prayers-response less interminable. But somebody really needs to loudly and publically tell the religious right that they've now made it illegal to pray in church . . .
Today was the Festival of the Confession of St. Peter. This may actually inspire me to polish and post that Wormtail essay that's been stewing in my notebook for months. Miracles do happen. Someday, I might even get out of the habit of doodling Voldemort all over my program during the service.
My, what a good little bourgeois girl am I.
Spent the evening cleaning room. I'm out of bookshelf again. Why does this always happen to me? It's a curse, I tell you. And I found the XF dvds; I had, of course, put them carefully away where they wouldn't get lost the last time I cleaned. Also, crystallized milk! I didn't even know milk *could* crystallize. Perhaps it was actually the mold growth patterns mimicking the appearance of mineral evaporite. Hey, either way, very cool.
I cooked, too. I don't know why people are always convinced I can't cook. Pisketti for dinner! Mom was sufficiently occupied playing minesweeper that I got almost halfway done before she couldn't resist coming up and telling me what I was doing wrong. Like using the glass saucepan instead of the metal one she's always used for spaghetti. Oh, she's really nice about it, and I learn a lot, but that is why I rarely cook: It doesn't really make sense, if she's going to have to be hovering about in the kitchen anyway. Dad's mother was like that too; the parents used to comment on it. Which is odd, because Mom's mother was very definitely capable of curling up with a romance novel while her kids did all the work. I cooked blond brownies for church social hour, too, at Mom's request. Since her recipe is always a little too cakey for me, I
Oh, right, today was the annual congregational meeting at church. Is it only Protestant Christians who have to endure annual congregational meetings? At any rate, the endless unproductive budget discussions give me a quite unwanted sympathy for Congress. Well, at least we made quorum this year. I had a nice nap for most of it. Trippy dreams. Mom had also volunteered me to run the food table, since she got stuck as council secretary again, although so many people decided to bring a little something, not to mention Mom going overboard, that it ended up being more like an old-fashioned Feast of Love than a coffee hour. We even had hot soup. I mostly poured punch, our famous Our Redeemer punch recipe: One bottle Hawaiian Punch, fill rest of punch bowl with cheap ginger ale. I frequently end up serving the punch, whenever WELCA's doing cofee hour, or Mom is, or nobody signed up. It makes me feel like a beautiful maiden from a Scandinavian or Anglo-Saxon myth, the sort who are known across seven kingdoms for their skill at pouring drink. Well, my pouring style is *memorable*, at least.
Sundays are dangerous. First I get Pastor's sermon, which is usually tied into current events, and the discussion afterward, and then Mom turns on Prairie Home Companion or Car Talk and I end up listening to NPR public affairs shows all afternoon and getting ranty about politics. Lately this of course makes me angry and depressed as well. The theme today seemed to be politics and religion. Church and state. Did you know my Pentecostal, revivalist great-grandfather walked out for good on the church he built with his own hands just because the pastor once preached about Prohibition? It was the foundation of his faith that politics and church don't belong together.
Also, forget about prayer in schools: Dubya and the Republican Congress we elected have now made it *illegal* to pray for people in church. Yep, that was a hot topic at the congregational meeting: IANAL, but apparently it's come down from above that the new medical privacy laws make it too legally risky for the pastor to pray out loud for sick people during service, or for the women to pass along a list of names to pray for. He has to either get their explicit permission to do so, or use first names as the only identification. Me, I'm all for anything that makes the prayers-response less interminable. But somebody really needs to loudly and publically tell the religious right that they've now made it illegal to pray in church . . .
Today was the Festival of the Confession of St. Peter. This may actually inspire me to polish and post that Wormtail essay that's been stewing in my notebook for months. Miracles do happen. Someday, I might even get out of the habit of doodling Voldemort all over my program during the service.
My, what a good little bourgeois girl am I.
no subject
Illegal... to pray... in church...
Doesn't... add up... *twitch*
We always used to pass up the names of friends and family, that were ill or in hospital, to the little usher people! What you're saying is that we must now do something to the effect of:
Please say a prayer for my grandfather, Johnathan Doe, who is in the hospital for a nasty boo-boo.
*head explodes*
Thank God that... umm... well... He knows what's what.
no subject
"Chose is action" is a legal term meaning a right to something that cannot be physically possessed, such as a right to receive damages for a breach of contract.
--C