When the Homily is about Immunology

Southern Comfort etc.

A busy weekend included a wedding, last minute musical preparations, 7 hours of driving, a visit from some Kentucky relatives (two of whom I had not seen in at least 20 years – cousins I’d grown up with), and worrying about the extent to which I have irked people with my recent controversial posts.

My mom, after being divorced for at least 20 years (coincidently, the last time I saw my cousins was when my folks separated) remarried on Saturday. A real nice rural gentlemen from Moxee Washington (hence the 7 hour drive) named Willard. They had a simple wedding in their front yard and they'd asked me to sing a song of their choosing, which was "Grow old along with me" apparently by John Lennon – which was additionally odd because the song asks for God's blessing and I didn’t think Mr. Lennon believed in God…oh whatever. Anyway, I procrastinated and only figured the cords out the week before and then did my best to memorize the lyrics by reciting them in my head during the drive. It panned out okay as I was able to tuck a cheat sheet under my arm and atop the guitar.

I had forgotten how much I enjoyed the company of my Kentucky relatives. One gets a sense of some simple honesty about them...no pretentiousness to speak of. Nice, is probably the best word I could use to describe them – there is something about southern hospitality – which is odd because I sensed it despite the fact that I was the one hosting them! You spend a little bit of time with them and you find yourself just enjoying listening to them talk. I believe, rural folk are far better oral story tellers than city folk, and when you tag on their southern drawl it is a joyful event to hear them tell what would normally be a mundane albeit somewhat cute story told by anyone else. Anyway, they brought gifts with them which for me included a Kentucky Wildcats T-Shirt and a bottle of Woodford's Reserve Bourbon, which tasted even better when sipped while my Uncle Bill retold the story of how their local country doctor would refuse to treat people who'd been wounded doing things they ought not to have been doing in the first place. Such that if you got in a bar fight and came to his clinic to get stitched up, he'd likely kick you out the front door "fur bein a durned fool."

Despite the fun, the issue of my political ranting about the archdiocese was weighing somewhat heavy on my mind. I had received – before we left - a fair number of personal emails that expressed shock, dismay, and offense at what I had written. I felt like a hindu in India who had a juicy hamburger and was eating it in front of everyone as they looked on in pious horror. I was thankful to receive a couple of communications from people whose opinions I respect very much which eased my worries a great deal. Perhaps I worry too much about what others think about me, or maybe I don't worry enough until after the fact? I dunno. I am what I am, but what I am not is someone who refuses correction.

We returned home very late on Saturday night having hoped to leave Moxee around bedtime, but apparently the kids were terribly wound up and not surprisingly did not sleep for most of the drive home as we had hoped. Sunday found me worn out.

Wet and rainy...and I sit here on the bus marvelling at how easily Seattlites forget how to drive in such weather.