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rushthatspeaksConsider me to be sprawled on the floor in one long swoop of contented cat. It has been a very good day... we got a new ISP, so we are no longer hung up on every time we try to change websites, nor does it redial every time we get off it; summer and roses have finally made their fullblown way to New York; and today has been both interesting and full of people. On a Sunday, who cares about being unemployed?
Ruth and I went over to the First Unitarian Church of Brooklyn today for service. Ordinarily I have a massive, massive aversion to churches unless dragged to one for a wedding, a funeral, or (with reluctant enjoyment) by Sei Shonagon. But it feels rather foolish to have a Unitarian church less than a block away, have been a self-professed Unitarian for over a year, and not go look at said church, y'know? I was pleasantly surprised, firstly by the church's appearance.
I had forgotten that in the list of the masterworks of Louis Comfort Tiffany, the windows of the First Unitarian Church of Brooklyn are very close to the top.
I have not seen a better set of stained glass windows on this continent. Frankly, I'd probably still go to this church every so often to stare at them if it were some denomination I'd never heard of. And they aren't really Christian stained glass, which suits my goddess-worshiping self just fine. Personification of virtues type windows, not lives of saints type. I was also pleasantly surprised by the people. The real atmosphere of community and merriment in this place was a high. Everybody was social, everybody wanted to be there; this is not what church was like when I was a child. I could walk around with my girlfriend on my arm and not have anybody blink an eye at it. I was also really happy with the sense they communicated that nobody there will ever tell me what to do, what to believe, what to think, or anything like that, in any way. Ever. I've left two separate religions now, the two I was raised in, because I will not be told who to be, and this is the reason I become paranoid the moment I set foot in most churches and start looking over my shoulder all the time.
So that was good, and we talked with both Signy1 and some of the Boston people on the phone, which was really nice, and then we went over to Ruth's aunt's for dinner. I've always loved Ruth's New York relatives. Her aunt has carved concrete gryphons as doorposts, and the kids go out every so often and chalk them into living color; they have an ironwork gate and the World's Friendliest Yet Still Polite Cat; the cousins are charming at seven and eleven, and I know I was a pill at those ages, so I am very impressed and can talk about fantasy novels and why Ruth's hair IS actually a cat toy and if it is pulled out I shall be very distressed at not having anything to play with so if you have to scalp somebody, why don't you scalp your sister, yes I know she's going after you with a napkin, did you think she wouldn't defend herself after I said that, and for that matter I have a napkin too, you know, so if you try that again, young lady, I'll... EN GARDE!
(The above is an accurate representation of various portions of dinner, the portions before Ruth's aunt proved to be far more deadly with a well-aimed napkin than any of us and to be willing to disregard the laws of chivalry to save her china cabinet, a reason I found quite understandable. So we switched to arm-wrestling.)
And there was Haagen-Dasz and fresh strawberries and a book of appalling jokes for eleven-year-olds-- Said eleven-year-old: 'What does a three-hundred-pound canary say?' Me: 'I don't know, what?' 'Here, kitty, kitty...'-- so I have come home to lie decoratively sprawled on a cushion and groom desultorily and purr. All is well with the world, and Ruth's hair really is a good cat toy.
Angst-O-Meter: 0. Angst? What does that translate to in Cat?
Ruth and I went over to the First Unitarian Church of Brooklyn today for service. Ordinarily I have a massive, massive aversion to churches unless dragged to one for a wedding, a funeral, or (with reluctant enjoyment) by Sei Shonagon. But it feels rather foolish to have a Unitarian church less than a block away, have been a self-professed Unitarian for over a year, and not go look at said church, y'know? I was pleasantly surprised, firstly by the church's appearance.
I had forgotten that in the list of the masterworks of Louis Comfort Tiffany, the windows of the First Unitarian Church of Brooklyn are very close to the top.
I have not seen a better set of stained glass windows on this continent. Frankly, I'd probably still go to this church every so often to stare at them if it were some denomination I'd never heard of. And they aren't really Christian stained glass, which suits my goddess-worshiping self just fine. Personification of virtues type windows, not lives of saints type. I was also pleasantly surprised by the people. The real atmosphere of community and merriment in this place was a high. Everybody was social, everybody wanted to be there; this is not what church was like when I was a child. I could walk around with my girlfriend on my arm and not have anybody blink an eye at it. I was also really happy with the sense they communicated that nobody there will ever tell me what to do, what to believe, what to think, or anything like that, in any way. Ever. I've left two separate religions now, the two I was raised in, because I will not be told who to be, and this is the reason I become paranoid the moment I set foot in most churches and start looking over my shoulder all the time.
So that was good, and we talked with both Signy1 and some of the Boston people on the phone, which was really nice, and then we went over to Ruth's aunt's for dinner. I've always loved Ruth's New York relatives. Her aunt has carved concrete gryphons as doorposts, and the kids go out every so often and chalk them into living color; they have an ironwork gate and the World's Friendliest Yet Still Polite Cat; the cousins are charming at seven and eleven, and I know I was a pill at those ages, so I am very impressed and can talk about fantasy novels and why Ruth's hair IS actually a cat toy and if it is pulled out I shall be very distressed at not having anything to play with so if you have to scalp somebody, why don't you scalp your sister, yes I know she's going after you with a napkin, did you think she wouldn't defend herself after I said that, and for that matter I have a napkin too, you know, so if you try that again, young lady, I'll... EN GARDE!
(The above is an accurate representation of various portions of dinner, the portions before Ruth's aunt proved to be far more deadly with a well-aimed napkin than any of us and to be willing to disregard the laws of chivalry to save her china cabinet, a reason I found quite understandable. So we switched to arm-wrestling.)
And there was Haagen-Dasz and fresh strawberries and a book of appalling jokes for eleven-year-olds-- Said eleven-year-old: 'What does a three-hundred-pound canary say?' Me: 'I don't know, what?' 'Here, kitty, kitty...'-- so I have come home to lie decoratively sprawled on a cushion and groom desultorily and purr. All is well with the world, and Ruth's hair really is a good cat toy.
Angst-O-Meter: 0. Angst? What does that translate to in Cat?
