Biting my tongue

Today, I am feeling pretty exhausted from our trip. It was a pretty mixed bag of good and bad experiences. The wedding was simple and lovely, a little preachy but not overly-so, and the venue was outdoors in a beautiful vineyard. The weather was unseasonably cool, windy and autumn-like, which some people complained about, but I found quite to my liking. The light rain did hold off until after the ceremony was over. My sister-in-law and her new husband looked besides themselves with happiness, and they're ridiculously adorable together. I also find myself suddenly an auntie to three teenagers from the groom's previous marriage. The boy and I chatted about the finer points of surviving the zombie apocalypse. I think that earns me the "cool auntie" card from him, at least. A bonus for me was getting to spend a little bit of time with an old friend I hadn't seen in five years. We went out for bubble tea. She got to meet Matt, and I got to meet her kitty.

The not-so-good things were largely related to the stress of traveling. It has been a long time since I have had to deal with any sort of travel with elder folks, and at times, Matt's grandmother, in particular, drove me batty. She wasn't being mean or anything. She just seemed to continually ask the same questions, or talk a lot about really obvious stuff, like how McDonald's was so crowded at lunch time. Matt's grandfather is a quiet sort. I like him, but I can't say that I really know much about him. His wife's the talker. Good luck getting a word in edgewise, and sometimes, she says things that really irk me. For instance, we drove past a homeless guy holding a sign that said "Single father of 4, please help," and her reaction was, "And whose fault was that? Go get a job," or something to that effect. She ignored me when I attempted to point out that many homeless people do have jobs and work hard... yeah, it wasn't going anywhere, so I just changed the subject. I think her reaction would have been slightly different had the gentleman's complexion been lighter, if you catch my drift.

There were other annoyances. The hotel was awful, the beds were hard and the pillows felt like something that came off an old sofa. I saw a cockroach in the sink. The drive from Minneapolis to Rochester was long and difficult, especially after just having gotten out of the airport circus. I was in pain for most of the trip and I only had a few percocet, so I had to use them strategically. I had a few panicky moments because of my irrational fear of turbulence, mostly on the way there. Oh, and we lost the grandparents at the airport on the way back. Grandpop didn't have his cell phone on, and the last we saw of them, they were on the wrong escalator. We had them paged three times. Turned out they'd gone through security ahead of us and couldn't hear the pages anyway.

The worst part of the trip for me, though, was going to the groom's conservative Baptist church for Sunday morning services. It was a nice-looking church on a wooded plot, and the people seemed friendly enough. The pastor leading the service was the same one who had performed the ceremony the day before. I told Matt before we left for church: "If he starts in on gay people or abortion, I'm walking out." Matt supported this idea.

The first twenty minutes or so of the service was filled with announcements that were of no concern to anyone outside the church, so I zoned out. Then the pastor stepped up. He made it clear that this was a church that took the Bible as the literal, unalterable word of God. Oh boy. Well, at least he isn't saying anything about -- and then, wouldn't you know it, he decided to take pot-shots at other local churches who were trying to make changes in order to allow gay marriages. "Why would anyone want to do something like that?" he said. And then he moved on. I was instantly sickened by my polite $2 contribution to the offering plate. Honestly, if I had not been sitting right next to Matt's grandmother, I would have left. Instead, I grabbed the handle of my cane and white-knuckled it through the rest of the service. It wasn't a celebration. The pastor was simply leading a one-sided Bible study. His focus seemed to be that good works don't matter unless you're saved, and of course, there is only one way to be saved. And it's not just accepting Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior. It is, apparently, being a Baptist. And the closing prayer?

"We pray that if there is one among us who is not saved that they come to the light." And I could swear he was staring straight at me. Maybe it was our whole row of Episcopalians plus one closet Heathen. It definitely made my skin crawl.

What bothered me most was that Alison's groom seemed to buy into this guy completely. I do not know Alison as well as I would like to, but I now fear that she is going to be pulled into something dangerous. That the family may end up divided. That Alison will be convinced to be baptised into this narrow doctrine of judgmental asshattery. But there is nothing I can do or say. Even if I were Alison's parent, what could I do? How could I stand in the way of her happiness because of my own fear and loathing of this kind of religious organisation? She has her own mind, she will make her own choices. I just hope they aren't ones that create a rift between us.

In other words, I spent four days in Minnesota biting my tongue so hard I'm surprised it isn't cleft in two. Hail to you, Scar-Lip. I feel you today.