Hilary White is a Good Reporter

Hilary White of LifeSite News is a friend of mine. A good friend of mine, I'd say, since we have holidayed together and sat together waiting for cancer doctors to see her. She's a good writer, a dedicated reporter (not a columnist--a reporter), and in private and on her blog, a passionate defender of the Catholic faith, the Catholic faith as John XXIII would have recognized it, if not the "Catholic faith" as the lady at RCIA taught it to you.

As a reporter, Hilary gets the story and reports the story. Reporting is not the same thing as writing an opinion column. Reporting is a harder job than writing opinion/editorials. I know this very well because I write op/ed for the Toronto Catholic Register, and have for almost seven years. I don't have to bust my butt the way Hilary does and did even when she was diagnosed with cancer. Even in the aftermath of chemo, Hilary was on the phone to Irish pro-lifers, for example, getting the story, getting her two stories a working day. And to my knowledge, Hilary was only once the story before now--when she organized her "Rebel Blognic" in response to the official Vatican blognic. This, significantly, was during the pontificate of Benedict XVI. And Hilary organized her blognic to make sure that bloggers who were not "safe" bloggers handpicked from diocesan websites got to meet and talk. Meanwhile, the controversy ensured that the official Vatican blognic got TONS of publicity. So not only did Hilary's "rebellion" create a fun event for any Catholic blogger who wanted to go, it brought about much good for the official Vatican event, whose organizers promptly invited Hilary.

Unfortunately, Hilary is the story again, because she reported on Pope Francis' meeting with a priest who openly condones homosexual behaviour.

That was a big story. It was a story that made people uncomfortable. It made "The Anchoress", Elizabeth Scalia of Patheos (which pays its bloggers per click) so uncomfortable she denigrated it as “Oh-my-gawd-the-pope-concelebrated-mass-and-kissed-the-hand-of-a-93-year-old-dissenting-priest-who-defends-homosexual-love-and-homosexual-and-isn’t-this-horrible-about-the-dissenting-homosexual-and-awful-Francis-and-homosexualists-and-homosexual!” But that is not in fact what Hilary said. Hilary wrote the facts and got the quotes. She is a reporter. She reported.

Hilary also has a blog, and on that blog Hilary speaks her mind on everything that comes into it, including how much she can't stand the work of Thomas Kincaid. She posts videos and her drawings and waxes nostalgic for Victoria, B.C. She insults and chases away people whose comments she doesn't like. Her blog, her rules. Sadly, people have been mining Hilary's blog for evidence that she might dislike Pope Francis and thus must be a bad reporter.

You know what? You can dislike anybody and still be a good reporter, as long as you love the truth. And I know Hilary White. She loves the truth, and she does not lie. She certainly doesn't lie to be nice, believe me. She would happily tell anyone she can't stand my blog. She can't--too girly. She does feminine, but not GIRLY.

I think things are going to start getting bad for Catholic reporters and columnists--the ones who get paid, the ones whose livelihoods depend on Catholic newspapers and magazines, paper or online. I think our right to say what we think on our blogs is going to be curtailed by our fears of losing our jobs. And I think this is going to be because of a tendency my mother warned me against when I was a child, and that is the growing tendency to mistake the currently reigning pontiff for the Catholic Faith.

About Patheos, source of attacks on Hilary's integrity.* When you are paid for every click on your blog post, it must be very tempting to write controversial pieces or to sound off against well-known Catholic writers to get the hits. It might even feel good to defend the pontiff at the same time, if that is what one is doing by objecting that someone else has dared to report that the pontiff raised eyebrows by kissing the hands of an infamous dissenter from the Catholic Faith, accepting his dissenting book, wooden chalice and paten (chalice and paten being in violation of church norms concerning the Blessed Sacrament) and concelebrating Mass with him. However, there is something more important here at stake than the idea that Pope Francis is practically perfect in every way--the truth.

My faith as a Catholic has never depended on any pontiff, and I was born before the death of Paul VI. Growing up, no pope loomed largely in my life, though I remember the funeral of Paul VI or John Paul I (whoever it was who died in the summer, 'cause I saw the funeral over the TV in my American granny's house) and was troubled when John Paul II was shot. John Paul II came to visit my city in 1985, and I was shocked by how very badly he spoke English--how bizarrely he pronounced it. It never occurred to me that a pope could speak English so badly. (Duh. He improved over the years, though.) However, this didn't trouble my faith in Our Lord Jesus Christ and in His Church a whit. And although I was shocked and appalled when Benedict XVI, of whose writings I am rather fond, abdicated, I just reverted back to what I learned at my mother's knee: Jesus Christ is the Alpha and the Omega and by comparison the pope does not much matter.

The Roman Catholic faith in its entirety, passed from one generation to the next, matters. Telling the truth matters. And so does friendship. Hilary is a very clever woman, an excellent writer and an honest reporter who does not, in her private life, suffer fools gladly. And thus my husband and I are proud to be numbered among her friends, and look forward to her exoneration by Life Site News.

*The pay-for-click policy means, of course, that every time someone clicks on Patheos, either to defend or support the attack on Hilary's integrity, the bloggers who called it into question turn a profit. So naturally I do not click, and I humbly ask you not to, either. Update: It turns out Jam (see combox) was quite right. The Patheos bloggers' attacks on Hilary began on Facebook, so the "shooting the messenger" had absolutely most likely nothing to do with any temptation to create profitable controversy. I apologize for the suggestion.


Update 2: Sigh. My most recent qualification is because I just discovered that one of the instigators did indeed post about it on Patheos. And was very rude indeed.

Update 3: LifeSite defends Hilary. About darned time, too.

Advice about Advice

Different cultures have different degrees of privacy and openness. I was once vastly edified when an Egyptian friend described a street scene in Cairo. A woman threw open her shutters and began lamenting her misfortunes to the neighbourhood. "Oh ground, swallow me up!" she demanded. And all the passersby paused and joined eagerly in her lamentations.

This would never happen in my native Toronto, where the reaction of the neighbours would be "Pipe down!" and "We don't want to hear it" or frosty silence. In Glasgow, of course, public irony is eagerly embraced, and B.A. and I were highly startled when B.A. made an ironic comments about a much-lauded public figure, and a passing Glaswegian stopped to loudly agree and elaborate on B.A.'s point. We Edinburghers are not quite that matey, on the whole, although you can elicit groans of fellow feeling among us if you say "What bloody weather" or "Sun for once!"

In North America, there are differing philosophies about how much privacy children should have. There are parents who never enter their children's rooms and giggle at signs barring them. But such signs would be unthinkable to various European and Asian parents, who would be outraged at such disrespect. Personally I would do as my mother did and attack every room with piles of clean laundry and a vacuum cleaner. Oh, what heaven to imagine my mother bringing me clean laundry (ironed!) and hoovering my room now. And my diary is now under password protect. Ah ha ha ha!

One of the biggest questions of social life is when you are respecting privacy and when you are being neglectful or, looking at it from the opposite direction, when you are being a supportive friend and when you are being meddlesome. And this is particularly difficult for Christians when we are conscious of the Spiritual Works of Mercy, which include "Instruct the Ignorant" and "Admonish the Sinner." That last one is particularly embarrassing to the British.

As I alluded to yesterday, one of the joys of marriage is that you clearly have someone who has the right to instruct your ignorance and admonish you for your sins. Before you are married, the only people who have the right to do that are your parents and, in their absence, your supervisory grandparents, uncles, aunts, older siblings (heaven help us), priests, teachers and parole officers, if applicable. However, I do recall in all-girls' school a sort of social self-policing, in which we stood as advocate, prosecutor, judge and jury over each other. For some reason, it has always stuck in my mind that when X saw Y kissing Z outside the St M's Choir School Dance in 1986, she cried, "What a putana! That's the kind of kiss you give your husband!" Of course, the fact that X's great friend Q had a crush on Z, and Y had effectively "stolen" Z from Q, probably heightened X's resentment of Y's behaviour. And her censure was rather strict even for 1986, though truth never changes and therefore she was right that such a kiss was inappropriate, though wrong that Y was a putana. (Y was a very nice girl, actually.) But she would not have had the right to inform Y she was acting like a putana (the worst thing you were likely to be called at my school), unless Y had asked her directly.

One of the amusing things about my moral development is that it began with my parents rather Edwardian take and in high school was strongly informed by the morality of Southern Italians who migrated to Toronto after 1950. J. was not allowed to wear nail polish. N. was not allowed to date. V. (Sicilian) was shoved into an arranged marriage. My mother was a crazy liberal next to my Italian-Canadian friends' parents, let me tell you. Where was I?

Oh yes, admonishing sinners. Eeek!

I am not for admonishing sinners unless they are sinning right in front of me, generally by trying to set fire to something on the grounds of the Historical House, aka My Home, although I think I said "This is outrageous! Stop that!" when a snarling, drunken woman battled with an innocent female bouncer in the seat beside me on the bus. Thus I usually reserve my admonishments to actual criminal behaviour.

The big exception is when I am asked for advice, as I frequently am, by email.

As you may have noticed, I love giving advice. I love giving advice so much that I really have to be careful not to annoy people with unsolicited advice. If people ask me what I think, I will tell them. But otherwise I strive with might and main to keep my mouth shut and my fingers from writing "helpful" emails. St Edith Stein's take on feminine helpfulness is that we should wait until it is clear our help is needed, offer our help without fanfare, quit helping when we are no longer needed, and then melt into the background again--rather like St. Anthony finding us our lost articles.

Of course there are times when one really should put oneself forward, but only to say, "I'm worried about you. Are you okay?" or "Do you need help?"--as you might ask a complete stranger flailing about with a map. But I don't recommend moral lectures unless you are on very intimate terms. Since sin leads inexorably to unhappiness, you could always say, "I'm worried about you. You don't seem very happy to me. Want to talk about it?" Then sit still and listen. Don't say what you think unless you are asked directly or--and this is a big or--to prevent great harm to someone else. If a friend tells you that she is strongly tempted to kill herself or her child, then this would be a very good time to give advice, even if indirectly, through stories. For example, the one time I ever said anything suicidish (in my worst depressive episode ever), my best pal told me that she wished her friend who had committed suicide had killed anyone but herself. She could have forgiven her for murdering somebody else, but not suicide. Whew! What a contrast to Father Rolheiser, eh? And probably a lot more effective. Trish is an intensely tolerant gal, but she drew the line, and I appreciate that. She said the hard thing at the right time--which is what best friends are for, really.

The Poles are greatly given to blunt truth-telling and have different words for different categories of friendship. They do not (well, the men do not) pretend everyone is their BFF. Thus, someone they know well enough to befriend on Facebook, say, is a znajomy/a (acquaintance), and someone they like a lot is a kolega/koleżanka (pal). But a przyjaciel/przyjaciółka is a best friend, and so by definition, they have only one--maybe two. My advice about unsolicited advice is that, unless someone's life or limbs* are on the line, you confine it to your przyjaciołom.

*It is your duty to do your best to prevent drunk people from driving, for example.

Welcome, Brothers!

Today is the Feast of Saint Joseph, a flash of cheer in a solemn time and for some perhaps a slight relief from the privations of Lent. Saint Joseph is the patron saint of Canada, as even few Canadians know, but even those Canadians grasp that Saint Joseph belongs to everyone equally. He was the earthly guardian of the Infant Jesus and the Blessed Virgin; what a staggering responsibility for a poor carpenter, no matter what his lineage!

Saint Joseph embodied many masculine virtues: prudence, obedience to God, strength, work, provision, protection of children and of women from harm, fatherhood, silence. In the Gospel narratives, we hear nothing from Saint Joseph after Our Lord is born. It is Our Lady who speaks for Saint Joseph, the head of the Holy Family, to Our Lord after they find Him in the Temple. Joseph's silence does not close him off from others; when we first hear of it, he uses it to shield his apparently disgraced fiancée.

It can be very difficult for some men to be silent. The hallmark of a gentleman, which is to say a man who has perfect command over himself, is that he will fall silent to allow women and children to speak and even to listen seriously to what we and they say. And I am very grateful to those men readers, formerly called Eavesdroppers, who managed to read this blog in respectful silence, acknowledging the comments box as a women-only zone.

Of course, women are often impatient with men's silence, and this is our fault. For many, if not most, women, speech is a balm, a healing oil that soothes the burns, scratches and cuts of life. Our feelings weigh upon our hearts and the most efficient way to relieve our hearts is to ease our feelings out of our mouths with the healing balm of words. Responding to these words with words, the right words, is how women care for one another, create bonds, restore friendships. This is so important to us that we often shy away from women who don't know how to do this, and we forget over and over again that this way is not men's way. What most girls instinctively learn in the schoolyard, most men need three years in the seminary--or thirty years of marriage--to master. Most men show care differently, wordlessly.

There are many reasons why so many of you are Single now, and why I did not remarry (I had an early marriage, divorce and annulment) until I was thirty-eight. Some have to do with historical circumstances, guaranteed. Some may have something to do with character. And some may have to do with the tendency of men and women not to understand each other. And this is why I think it is time to ask for male readers to contribute to our discussions: they have probably learned a lot from us over the past few years, and now we can learn from them. As even cloistered nuns receive letters and visits from men who request advice and prayers, even Serious Single women may profit.

And now without further ado, here are two kind responses to the theme I set yesterday. Thank you very much, gentlemen.

What Single Men Wish Single Women Knew About Them


1. NCBs HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU’RE THINKING

They don’t know if you’rre interested in them. They don’t know if you’re lonely. They’re not sure if you’re happy or sad, and they don’t know how to change your mood. To many NCBs, the emotions of NCGs are a black box. Who knows what should go in, or what will come out?

NCBs and NCGs fail to realize that men and women use words differently.Men use words as a means to an end. They figure out how they feel, and they use their verbal skills (such as they may be) to explain those feelings as clearly and fully as they can. Women use words as part of a journey. Words elicit words from others; feelings are shared; reactions are gauged; and in the end, the speaker arrives at an emotional state that is enmeshed in the broader context of social relationships.

This phenomenon makes no sense to men. All they see is that women say one thing and mean another. They cannot fathom the process. A man says “I don’t want to get married soon” and a woman scrutinizes the statement as though it were the latest revelation from the Dead Sea Scrolls. A woman says “It’s okay – I don’t need an anniversary present this year,” and a man thinks, “well – okay then!” And he cannot understand why you’re angry at him forbelieving you .NCBs will take you too literally. You won’t take them literally enough.

--L [whose Seraphic Singles combox name shall now be Leo--SS]

2. WE ARE ALLIES

The first thing Single ladies must know about Single Gentlemen is that we are fundamentally allies in striving for goodness and wholesome living and good taste. The World (as it is called in St. John's Gospel) hates manly virtue in men as much as it hates womanly virtue in women. You can tell a true gentleman by that he will never seek to compromise you. A Gentleman delights in Lady.

The second thing that Single ladies must know about Single gentlemen is that we're all different. Some of us are tall, dark, and handsome; some are shorter and stouter. Some are engineers and some farmers and some are academics. Some of us have long hair. (Think Captain Jack Aubrey on The Far Side of the World.)

And lastly, one owes a Single gentleman as-such nothing beyond charity (ordinary, philosophic, Christian charity): if a Single gentleman seems to be after your heart, you are perfectly within your rights to insist he win it, or send him marching home. A true Gentleman rejoices in a challenge to rise against! (and he will in time recover should fate conspire against his present hopes).

--Belfry Bat

The combox is open. Everyone may ask everyone respectful questions. All answers must also be respectful.

Auntie Seraphic & the Confused Friend

(Letter edited to protect identity of writer.)

Dear Auntie Seraphic,

In the vein of several of the comments on a recent post, could you please give us some advice on being friends with guys? I have personally been giving this topic a lot of thought lately because of a rather frustrating "friendship" I am in with a young man.

I grew up with only sisters, and I had minimal interactions with young men until I went to college, and then I was shy and avoided contact with them as much as possible. Thank goodness I grew out if my shyness, but even now as a (relatively) confident mid 20 something, I still find it difficult to talk to/relate to guys. So, I was pleasantly surprised when I met a young man at work who was easy to talk to and seemed to enjoy my company.

When we both left the job, he asked for my number and wanted to stay in touch. I really liked him (i.e. had a crush on him), so I was hoping he was planning to ask me out. He texted me a few times and then asked me to a movie, which did not turn out to be a date (I am assuming this since I paid for my own ticket and it felt very friendish). After that I heard nothing from him for several weeks.

I assumed he wasn't interested in being friends after all, so I tried to forget about it. Randomly one day he texted me again to ask how I was doing and asked me to go hiking. The same pattern followed. A few weeks of silence. Then "How've you been? Let's meet for coffee". I backed out of plans for a jam session with him a few weeks ago, but I have a feeling he'a going to text me soon to reschedule.

He is a very nice (culturally) Catholic boy, so I'm trying not to think ill of him, but I'm getting a bit tired of the "feast and famine" approach the friendship seems to be taking. I have reality checked myself out of my crush (for the most part) but I really do enjoy his company. We always have a good time and good conversations. I would genuinely like to be his friend. But I don't know how to decipher the (up to 6 week) long silences.

For me, being friends means talking to each other more than only every 6 weeks, at least in the early stages. Or is that needy of me? My non-confrontational self would almost just like to stop accepting his invitations to do things and just let it die out. However, my mom made the wise observation that as I have few friends, I should try to cultivate the friendships I do have.

In this case, (as a friend) should I initiate texting and invite him to do things? Or do the silences mean he's really not that interested in being my friend? It really sounds like I'm overthinking this, but I would just like to understand guys' behavior a little better so I can be more comfortable around them. Thank you, Auntie, and a blessed Advent!

Confused Friend

Dear Confused Friend,

I'm on side with your mother. The silences do not mean that he's not interested in being your friend. The silences mean that he's not interested in being your boyfriend. AND THAT'S OKAY. When you have grown up without boys your own age in your life, it is a great blessing to have male friends. It can be annoying when all you have are male friends--everyone's pal, nobody's sweetheart--but in your situation, I would be grateful for this opportunity to associate with a nice, friendly man my age without the pressure or worries of romance.

Men do friendship differently from the way women do friendship. Women usually need to be in touch a lot, and the basis of our friendships is conversation. Lots of conversation! And news! But men are not like that. They get together from time to time, smile and insult each other. They joke around, they DO something (like play soccer) or they drink beer. (I am not at all surprised that your friend invited you for a hike and wants to jam--that sounds very man-like.) My husband meets his best friend only once every three months! And if we didn't see them at church, we might not see our other male friends for weeks! But these men don't mind. They are the same way.

If you enjoy time with your friend, and you can accept that he is just going to be a friend (perhaps a more exciting friend than a new female friend, but still a friend), then think of something you would like to do together (since he likes hiking, going to the zoo?) and text an invitation. This does not count as chasing him, since that is not what you are doing. You are just signalling that you are doing your part to keep the friendship going.

Congratulations on having a male friend! I think spending time with good men makes it easier to attract other good men. I am not sure why this is, but this is my experience.

Grace and peace,
Seraphic

Book update: A splendid review from this blogger. If you haven't read "Ceremony" yet, you might want to wait, since he discusses it frankly, although he's not QUITE in the plot-spoiler territory. But if you have read "Ceremony" already, he's got some wonderful insights I think you'll enjoy. Pop on over and tell him what you think. He's very funny on the "Catholic ghetto" and gave me some grist for my IP Novels mill.

Friends with Men

Yesterday saw some comments and one email about the challenge of being friends with men. This is an area rife with problems because commonly held social expectations have fallen down and the similarities between men and women are stressed to the expense of the differences.

Also the culture of divorce and the elevation of motherhood high, high above fatherhood has left many men spooked about losing their hearts, youth, children and, as some of them never cease to remind us, wallets to women. Meanwhile, the internet has the potential to wipe out any sense of mystery around sexual relations and therefore half the allure of women. I imagine some men may decide that they are better off completely dividing sex from marriage, and just have a lot of female buddies, one or two of whom serve as "friends with benefits."

Naturally I implore you never to become a "friend with benefits." If anecdote is to be believed, it is not that unusual for girls, particularly in very poor, western, male-dominated communities, to trot around to indulge the sexual whims of male friends they admire. I hope the anecdote is not true; it seems to be a theme of contemporary rap music, however. I suppose the girls (if they really exist) are telling themselves they are having fun.

Dear me, what a way to begin a post about friendships with men. Sorry about that.

Well, to tell you the truth, I did not have any real male buddies until I was 18. Although I socialized with boys, I could not say that any (except my one-year-younger brother) was a friend. And not all the men I socialized with, in the highly-charged environment of the teenage wing of the pro-life movement, were my friends--at least, not good friends. One of the boys was a genial bully. Another boy fought with me pretty constantly about feminism. Of them all, I socialize with only two today although I exchange friendly greetings, when I see them, with the boys who are now priests. And I pray for the two who have died.

Being a Catholic teenage girl around Catholic teenage men taught me one important life lesson: Catholic conservative men are afraid of feminists, feminism, Catholic feminism, Catholic feminists and anything that reminds them of such people and things. You can be as pro-life as Mother Teresa, and as politically active as Dorothy Day, and as philosophically brilliant as Elizabeth Anscombe, but if you say "I'm a feminist", you might as well shave your head and stick a nose-ring through your septum.

Of course, a lot of Catholic conservative men, like a lot of non-Catholic or liberal men, are jerks who feel personally insulted when they discover that some women, particularly women their own age, are smarter than them. Oh, the horror. But there we get into the whole subject of male competition. Men compete with men, and when called upon to do so, compete with women, and get annoyed when women change the rules or, in fact, win. Life must have been so much easier for men when they did not have to compete with women at all.

I'm trying to see it from their point of view. I hope they try to see it from ours.

Anyway, men don't hold much mystery for men, and from what I see, their friendships tend to consist in getting together at least once every three months to do something or drink beer and insult each other. (Married men friends bring their wives to dinner parties, and hopefully their wives get along, despite completely divergent politics or whatever, and have a high tolerance for the men's in-jokes, college memories and anecdotes about people the wives have never met.) When I was in the pro-life movement, there as certainly a lot of doing something and of the boys insulting each other and of various boys insulting me because for a whole year I was apparently next door to being a guy. I was apparently "not really a girl girl", an insult that has haunted me for over 20 years.

Oh, oh. In my mind's ear I hear my mother. She is saying, "Why have you allowed that foolish young man to blight your life?"

Me: It not a question of "allowed." He just did.

Aged P: It's been twenty years. Get over it.

Me: Do you think it's because I insisted that a woman could be Catholic and a feminist?

Aged P: I think he was angry because he saw himself as an intellectual but it was all for show, and your arguments threatened his view of himself. Men are hothouse plants. The slightest cold breeze and pffffffft.

Me: What if I had kept my mouth shut, and just written everything I thought in secret, and deliberately looked and acted like what the boys obviously though a Nice Catholic Girl should look like?

Aged P: Seraphic, you have a wonderful life with a husband who loves you for you. Don't look back. Lot's wife looked back, and now she's a Middle Eastern salt-lick.

Me: But I'm trying to advise my readers here. They want to have male friends, but on the other hand, they want to encourage eligible men to consider them more than friends.

Aged P: What about maidenly distance? Don't you usually harp on maidenly distance?

Me: Oh, yes. Thanks.

If you want to men to think of you as a woman, and not just one of the guys, I highly recommend wearing visual cues and establishing some clear boundaries. If you must wear jeans, wear fashionable ladies' jeans with fashionably girly tops. Wear women's clothes, not unisex clothes. If you must cut your hair, make sure it's not a man's haircut. Carry a handbag or bling your knapsack in a way a guy just wouldn't. (You can be sporty and do this too. I have a Hibernians Football Club t-shirt--studded with rhinestones.) Make some parts of your life, like your bedroom, completely off-limits to your male friends. This is not a chastity thing here; it is a mystery thing.

Meanwhile, if a guy asks you out on something that sounds like a date, but you are not sure if it is a date, I know no reason why you could not ask, "Is this a date or a friend thing?" In fact, I don't know why you could not ask "Is this a date or a friend thing?" at every invitation, so as to jog the male mind to remember that you are, in fact, a girl. Indeed, if he asks, however jocularly, "Does it matter?", you could say "Of course it matters! I'm a girl! I need to know!" Confidence and good cheer, that's the ticket.

Anyway, I hope this is helpful. As for men telling you long sagas about the girls they are in love with, don't pretend that they are girls and give them advice or make girl-soothing noises, unless you are old enough to be their mother. Suggest they talk to someone old enough to be their mother. Suggest they talk to your mother. Suggest they write to me.

Don't be a man-your-age's mother. If you feel like being flirtatious with the poor schnook, say "But Scooter! How can you possibly think about other girls when you're here with ME?" Whatever you do, don't sit there being nice. Men occasionally tell me some surprisingly frank things about what they think of women who catch their attention, but "She's so nice" has not been one of them.

Since I think it is important, I will reveal that B.A. fell in love with me when I was sitting in a very handsome drawing-room wearing a deep blue, knee-length shift dress and pearls listening to an elderly man tell salty anecdotes about a famous Oxford don. I had a terrible cold, but I sat up straight and my company manners were perfect or, at least, correct for an Edinburgh drawing-room. I was sooo lady-like, I am sure I did my mother proud.

Always bring a nice dress to Europe, even if you're backpacking, in case there is a party.

A Merry War

Outrageous! The Men's Schola had a Chaps Only dinner party last night, to celebrate some opprobrious dead white male novelist. Naturally I had to have a Ladies' Supper at the same time in response. (So much more dignified than dressing in drag and crashing the men's event.) We celebrated Jane Austen, which gave us the opportunity to make our existing frocks look a tad more Empirish and to sport weirdly placed Georgian curls.

I pushed the boat out, as obviously I had to outdo the host of the Chap's Only dinner, constrained only by budget, guests' gluten intolerance and the fact that it was Friday. And on the whole I was pleased with the result: mixed nuts (with cava to drink), onion soup with Stilton, deconstructed avocado salad with crevettes, rainbow trout with orange and dill, chanterelle carrots, broccoli and potatoes, chocolate pudding with candied orange peel and chewy macaroons (and cherry brandy to drink), Stilton with apple slices and walnuts. In short, pre-dinner nibbles and five courses, and not a sprinkle of wheat to be seen.

So imagine my chagrin this morning when I discovered from Seminarian Pretend Son, who returned with B.A. to the Historical House at 3 AM, that the Chap's Only supper featured nine courses with printed photocopied menu-souvenirs.

"It's not a competition," said B.A. when I moaned.

"Yes, it is!"

Still, I am pleased with my supper, and the crevettes still had their eyes and antennae and everything, so they looked quite dramatic on their Georgian-style plates.

As is usual at these segregated occasions, the only married people at both events were B.A. and I, which is why I mention on my Singles blog. Well, that and conceding to certain Eavesdroppers that the other supper was more elaborate. Curses!

Update: Through wifely cunning I have got my hands on one of these menus, and I have to say I don't think "coffee, port, chocolates, cigars & brandy" should count as a course.

Attention Again D.C. Readers

Hello, dear readers of Washington, D.C.! I have had an email from a new girl who has moved to D.C. for work. It sounds like a great job in itself, but she is tired of hearing people around her spout anti-religion nonsense . She needs some Catholic networking, and I know you gals are connected. So volunteers please! Who wants to organize a Seraphic Singles meet-up in D.C.? I know the Catholic scene in D.C. is huge, but our girl hasn't found it yet.

The Importance of Girlfriends When You're a Girl

This is should be short because it is B.A.'s birthday and I have to clean, shop, cook, bake and possibly get to Polish Mass because it is also the Feast of Our Lady Queen of Poland. Not being Polish, I feel no obligation to celebrate the Feast of Our Lady Queen of Poland, but I would like to anyway. (Update: Whoops. I am credibly informed that although it is the Feast of the Queenship of Mary, the Feast of her Queenship of Poland is some other day.)

When I was in Gdańsk I went to Mass every day because my hostess Marta tries to get to Mass every day, and I thought this was very beautiful. It is very easy to get to daily Mass in Poland because there are churches everywhere, and usually at least one person praying in any city church at any time of the day, and the priests show up to say Mass in such a way that you know they would show up even if nobody else did.

This was splendid and heartening, and what was also splendid and heartening was spending four days with a cradle Catholic woman my own age. I know many of my readers really prefer the company of men and feel like fish out of water when with fellow women, but I am definitely the kind of woman who enjoys being around other women. This is not to say I don't like men, but--.

Hmm. How to explain that "but"?

The wonderful thing about being in all-girl groups and activities, like Girl Guides and girls' school, is that although you compete a bit, you also work together and there is no mental adjustment for the presence of men. There is also no competition for men. You can just forget all that for as long as you are in the all-girl environment, learning how to tie a parcel or prepare a slide for the microscope. And you can talk endlessly, effortlessly obeying the social conventions around women's conversation you hopefully have mastered by the time you leave primary school.

But at the same time, for 99% of women, you pin your hopes for romance and family life on men, which means there is (or should be) a certain amount of detachment: you don't go out of your mind with jealousy when your friend falls in love with some guy. Sure, you might feel a bit neglected, but your heart doesn't snap in half. And this means women can relax around each other in a way we probably shouldn't around men. For example, you can tell a woman all about the lingerie your other friend got at her bridal shower and have a good laugh, whereas you can't tell a good male friend all this stuff without him silently asking the perpetual silent man question, "Why is she telling me this?"

From a cradle Catholic point of view, it is relaxing to be around other cradle Catholics because you don't have to talk about Catholicism so much. I spend a lot of time with convert men, including my husband, and I adore them all, but my goodness, do they talk a lot about Catholic stuff. Not usually about Our Lord or Our Lady, but about churches and liturgies and processions and what Pope Francis did and what Pope Benedict said and what convert Catholic wrote what about who.

Cradle Catholics, the ones who try to be faithful, don't have to talk so much. We can silently swim in a great sea of Catholicism, beyond words and sometimes even beyond thought, just believing and praying side by side. And this is what I did in Gdańsk with Marta. I am 100% sure it beat getting drunk with your mates and some Australian blokes on the beaches at Tenerife, the stereotypical modern British mini-break.

I do not, by the way, want to put up any kind of wall between cradle Catholics and convert Catholics. Unless they became Catholics just to please their fiances, convert Catholics have had an amazing experience, an at times painful and frightening adventure, and are often very impressive. Most of my favourite British Catholic writers were converts. There are a lot of leading American Catholic apologists who are converts. But there is something about growing up in a Catholic home and perhaps even a Catholic ghetto or Catholic society that is unique. Many of us North American Catholics are, by the time we leave home, Catholics In Name Only. But a Catholic childhood is a Catholic childhood, and Catholicism is in our cradle Catholic bones and blood and teeth and hair. (But I suppose that is also why cradle Catholics who hold heretical views are so confident in their heresies. You know the drill: "Well, I'm a Catholic, and I think...")

Then there is the generational thing, about which I felt a lot when I was with Marta, especially in front of the shipyard at Gdańsk, the birthplace of Solidarity. When the strikes were going on, Marta was right there. But I was watching them on TV, seeing the photos in Time magazine and observing the Polish priest who suddenly turned up in our parish, out of harm's way, so I remember too.

Generation is about what you remember. Generation gap is about memory as much as it is about "new" ideas and new technology.  

Anyway, it is funny to write so much about the joy of spending a long weekend with a cradle Catholic woman of my own generation when it is my convert Catholic husband's birthday. (Happy birthday again, B.A.!) But the point I am making is that even married women (perhaps especially married women) need female friends our own age who know and remember many of the same things we do.

This is why, perhaps, it is hard to make new women friends when you get older or move to another city: the majority of them, native to the city, are so busy with work and their families that when they have time to spend with friends, they choose their oldest friends, the friends who share the same background, values and memories. Childhood friends. High school friends. College friends.

Hard, though, does not mean impossible.

New Green Shoes

Beautiful new shoe found on sale

The social highlight of my week is Sunday Lunch. Sometimes Sunday Lunch is an extravagant, crowded affair, and sometimes Sunday Lunch is simple and select. It depends on who has offered to have Sunday Lunch that week, and how much of an effort he or she wants to make, and who is available for an invitation, and how many friends he or she would like to bring with him or her.

There is sometimes a difficulty when Sunday Lunchers gather themselves up from After-Mass Gin to go to Sunday Lunch only to discover that nobody has cooked it, or that half the party has mysteriously disappeared without a word to the other half, and is probably on its way to a super-exclusive Sunday Lunch at some deliciously exotic location. On such unhappy occasions the forlorn remnant usually straggles off to a pub.

However, as the weather has been so beautiful since July muscled out soggy old June,  a group of us Lunchers recently had a most glorious picnic instead. We sat on a hill in a park clad in all our Sunday Fogey Finery and hid our bottles from the view of a ranger, who turned out to be much more opposed to the smuggling away of pond turtles by the party next to us than to bottles. The charm of novelty and the simplicity of just chipping in £10 each at Waitrose enhanced the charms of the sunshine and the view.

This Sunday, however, there were so few Sunday Lunchers around that the other woman present and I just sloped off after Gin to George Street to "do errands." Errands included taking a pair of linen trousers back to its shop to have its stubbornly lingering security tag removed, mooning at clothes purportedly "on sale" and eating lunch in an elegant and lady-like restaurant studded with Mediterranean ceramic plates.

Although we would not want to forego the company of gentlemen Sunday Lunchers more than once or twice a year, my friend and I found the change as good as a rest. In its way, it had the same charm of novelty as our picnic, and there was no-one around to make off-colour comments unsuitable for ladies' ears, St. Alban.* And after lunch was eaten and paid for, there was no dissenting deep-timbred voice to prevent a stroll to the shoe shop in Frederick Street.

As a matter of fact, I do not buy shoes very often, being love rich and cash poor. This makes buying new shoes a most delectable treat comparable only to buying new shoes. And being able to find such pretty shoes as the above on sale for only £25 made it even more delightful, as this is the east coast of Scotland, where we brag about how cheap we bought things on sale, in contrast to the unspeakable sybarites of the west coast, who perversely brag about expense. And to top things off, these new shoes are my husband's favourite colour, so there was a very good chance that he would exclaim "How nice!" before "How much?" when I got them home.

Slightly too big but sacred indoor shoes.

Finally, the green sneakers I wear with green finery when outdoors--like many Canadians, I carry my indoor shoes around in a bag--fell completely apart on the way from the restaurant (where I wore my indoor shoes) and so I had to buy new shoes or walk to a bus-stop in my slightly too big but sacred indoor shoes.

Therefore, finding the above shoes in my size and in my husband's favourite colour for only £25 was one of those rare shoe-buying miracles one hears about. In fact, the self-destruction of my sneakers even made the Sunday shopping the correct response to an emergency as opposed to a venial sin. "I'll wear them out," I said airily to the clerk of the new shoes, meaning no irony.

Finally, I virtuously remembered to buy groceries for my husband's supper, and so went home in a glow of satisfaction, smelling of roses, at 6 PM, which was also a nice change from going home at 1 AM in a fog of booze, smelling of cigars.

*That said, so many young women these days curse like troupers and make so many naughty jokes in mixed company that much must be forgiven of those boys who did not grow up around trad Catholics, homeschooled girls or Miss Marple. I crossed out "these days" because an elderly Englishman I know drops the F-bomb in mixed company with such regularity that I assume the women of his generation do too, or did.

***
July donations: Thanks very much to R.C. That was a very nice Canada Day present.

Befriending Families

I've written before about how migratory Americans and Canadians are (and always have been) compared to Europeans until very recently. We seem to have this feeling that we can just pick up and leave Chicago for New York or Toronto for Montreal, and everything will be fine. However, the older we get, the more difficult it is for many of us to make friends. Real friends, that is. Naturally we have colleagues at work, but those don't always turn into friends.  (The test is whether you still get together after you have left the job.)

The Poles, incidentally, have at least two words for friends, differentiating between best friends and everyone else. I admire their hard-headed ability to reserve przyjaciel (m.)/przyjaciólka (f.) for the few and apply kolega/koleżanka to the many. I would not be surprised if there were further gradations, e.g. kumpel/kumpelka. I bet there are further gradations in Germany, too. Central Europeans are simultaneously blunt and sentimental. How they survive social life in the UK, having to cope with the Anglo-Saxon conversational stream of polite nothings, is a question.

Anyway, most of the people we native English-speakers call our friends are really just our colleagues or our acquaintances, and there is nothing wrong with that. What is wrong is to take our friends, first class (przyjaciel/przyjacióka class), for granted, and to assume we can make new friends in a new town right away.

Since I migrated to Scotland, I have made two attempts to have a social life outside of my husband's circle of friends and acquaintances. There was my writing circle, in which virulent anti-Catholics unintentionally made me extremely uncomfortable, so I quit, and there is now my Polish class. Besides Polish class, I have church, writing, travel and occasional forays into the Edinburgh art scene. Thus, I feel a bit isolated. At least there are more under-50 women at church now. There were very few when I arrived.

My hometown friend Lily suggested that I go to a local Novus Ordo Mass to meet more women, but I am such a Usus Antiquor junkie, I really didn't think I could bear that. Also, Catholic women my age (39++) tend to have complete social circles already. Women who don't move from town to town settle in among their relations, their grade school friends, their high school friends or their university friends, get married or get a partner, and divide most of their time between their place of work and their home. Many have children who take almost all the emotional energy the women have to give. And happy the partnered woman who does not spend 7 out of 7 nights keeping her man company in front of the telly.

After some dithering and feeling sorry for myself, I decided that I would stay put and see who God sent, and every once in a while God sends the parish somebody new and disposed to find new friends.Thank heavens for coffee hour. Every parish should have coffee hour, so it doesn't have to dread one day hearing, "I was a stranger, and you didn't welcome Me."

And those six paragraphs lead to my advice to the Single woman who wants to befriend families: give up your dream of meeting families and accept the friends God sees fit to send you. The truth is, I cannot imagine why a busy family with small children would go out of their way to befriend complete strangers, unless the parents of the family were unusually gregarious souls. Couples with children are emotionally stretched, sometimes to the breaking point, and if a mother of babies has any time to herself, she wants it for herself, or for girl-time with old friends.

I could be wrong, of course. But I honestly don't think a married woman with kids is going to bond with a new single woman just because the single woman seems to like her kids. There has to be something else to bond over. If the married woman is a keen tennis-player, and the new single woman is also a keen tennis-player, then that would be something, especially if the married woman has been stuck for some time for someone with whom to play tennis. However, only in chatting with a married woman can Single you find out if you have such interests in common, so by all means strike up conversations with married women with children after Mass or wherever else.

Birds of a feather flock together. With one hometown exception, my friends with children were my friends before they had their children. I have babysat for only two young families because only two young families here know me well enough to ask. Most of the people I socialize with are childless, like me. Most of them are Single. Most were not born in Edinburgh. We share the same interests and the same basic lifestyle. Orphaned by geography, I turn to two older friends for motherly advice, and childless by accident, I mother younger friends when called upon to do so. And maybe sometimes when not. And if sometimes I feel isolated and lonely, that's the price most migrants pay for migration.

Falling Out 2

How many times can a heart break? Seven times seventy-seven, I'd say. My heart has been broken so many times, I've lost count. And it is interesting what broken-heartiness can do to you. It can make you into a tough, angry, insensitive person, and it can make you into a caring, deeply creative, sensitive person. Or both.

I had a particularly bad break when I made a new female friend in my early thirties. She was twenty or so, talented, fun and both amused and frustrated to find herself a fish out of water. She was as brilliant and enthusiastic as the sun on a July day. Always the youngest around, she gravitated towards me, and although I was much older, I learned all kinds of things from her: new kinds of food, new dances, even how to use crayons. (She: "Are you AFRAID of the crayon?") I read over her papers. And I offered a listening ear when she told me about a troubling atheist classmate. I gave solemn advice about the atheist classmate. Atheists, ick.

As luck would have it, she started dating the atheist classmate, and my earlier sympathetic denouncements of the atheist classmate came back to haunt me. My young friend worried that I would not like her classmate-boyfriend, and although he seemed like a nicer guy than she had first described him, I could not be sufficiently enthusiastic. The upshot was her out-of-the-blue, incandescent-with-rage email that accused me of, among other things, racism.

In my town, the worst thing you can call someone, especially a white person, is a racist. And I hadn't started writing for the CR yet, so I was still very thin-skinned. The unfairness of the email struck me so violently that I burst into tears, and as soon as I could, I went to see my spiritual director and cried my heart out. I hadn't felt so betrayed by a female friend since elementary school, and I was completely bewildered. I decided that the easiest explanation was that my friend had not really seen me as a friend but as a mother/mentor figure and had had to violently break ties with me so as to bond with her new man without getting mad at her real mother. Or something. And I said I would never be friends with someone so much younger than me ever again.

But the next term, Lily arrived. Lily was not much older than my friend (who had left town with her man) and she was even more beautiful--model-beautiful, in fact--but she was a lot quieter, a lot deeper and an old soul. Somehow we became friends, and we still are friends, even though we have had at least  one really bad fight. Fortunately, that fight was on the phone, not over dratted email.

As Single women in your thirties, chances are that you are going to make friends with people much younger than yourselves because you are more likely to share the Single lifestyle with them than with women your own age. This can be challenging because many of the young are still in flux. They are still working things out, and their adult brains may not be entirely hooked up yet. Although you may think you are equals, they may even project all kinds of ideas onto you---"mother figure," for example. Mothers are not just loved by the young;  they are avoided, rebelled against and sometimes even hated. Being a mother-figure when you are not actually old enough to be your friend's mother is a recipe for disaster, if you ask me. It's safer if your young friend has an old soul.

It is safer, too, if you stop yourself from ever writing an angry email to a friend. In the case of younger friends, I belatedly think you should avoid anything at all contentious. "Hey, you know, you will have a  lot of trouble in life from Macedonians if you make such anti-Macedonian remarks to Macedonians" is best saved for the phone.

Meanwhile, I suppose you have to watch against a tendency to turn your younger friends into your children. This is more of a murky area for me, for I never had any older friends who did this. I imagine, though, that some older friends could become overbearing, especially if they are much richer or successful or advanced in their careers and convinced that they know better than you what is good for you. They might completely underestimate their effect on you, too, as pop culture constantly tells us (especially women) that our social value to the young decreases us we age. (This, incidentally, is nonsense, but it is hard to forget that it is nonsense.)

In that case, I think the best thing to do is tell your older friends exactly what you are thinking, only in friendly language. "I love the time we spend together, but I feel X when you say Y" is a good start when talking to an overbearing older friend. Overbearing older friend might not have any idea she is overbearing. I rarely have any idea of what effect I am having on people, as one of my theology profs once observed. (Apparently I often intimidate people [like left-wing priest-professors], and I really don't understand why, as I am so small and powerless.* Maybe it's because I say whatever most things that come into my head, e.g., "Not only was Cardinal Ratzinger completely right about the liturgy, he was terribly handsome," because my filter is rather eccentric.)

Anyway, I very much wish my young friend had told me right away when she felt annoyed with me instead of letting her discomfort build up until she wrote me that horrible, friendship-ending email. A nice coffee date and an explanation that she had to work through a lot of issues as she got so intimately involved with a man so different from her would have been nice although, I suspect, too much to expect. As for me, I think I could have listened more carefully and to what she said about at least one issue on an earlier occasion.

When sex is in the air--as I suspect it was--older woman friend is rarely a match for wily young lover. Sex is a freight train, and sometimes when your friend is stuck in the tracks, looking with avid interest at the steel behemoth racing towards her, all you can do is skip out of the way.

*That said, any adult who assumes he or she is powerless should do a good examination of conscience. Some priests assume they are powerless flower petals ground down under the boots of the parishioners, entirely unaware of the emotional and spiritual power they have over those very same parishioners. Some young women have absolutely no idea that their clothing, conversation and behaviour are driving male friends to distraction because "I'm so ugly/famously pure, it doesn't matter what I wear/say/do."  At any rate, if a friend is driving you crazy, it is most charitable to assume she doesn't know and to tell her--but very probably not by email.

Update: Tomorrow is Gentleman's Day, so send me some question for les gars and I will post them up tomorrow. If any men are still reading, they may answer them and ask their own questions for you to answer on June 1.

Single Friends and Stability

I answered an email today that made me think about friendships. I have a number of friends who are Single and probably always will be Single. And this means they have a lot of time for their friends, and their friends--particularly the Single or childless ones--have a lot of time for them.

Singles often worry about not being a priority in other people's lives--although presumably they rank somewhere in the affections of their family members--but I can tell you that my Single friends are top priority with me. (Well, top after B.A.) This is probably because I don't have children, but even if I did have children, I would certainly want adult friends to talk to after a long day or week of shrieking and baby talk.

The North American reluctance to have friends much younger or much older than oneself strikes me as foolish and shortsighted. I did not realize now normative it was for me until I spent a summer in Germany and discovered that 20 year old boys were happy to hang out with 30-something me. I was happy but troubled enough to talk it over with a fellow foreign student, a priest, and he told me that's how Europeans are. And how awesome is that?

B.A. and I recently had two Canadian Trid girls to stay, and they were astonished that our set acted as if we were all the same age. That said, we were all of us over 23. It's not like there were any children around, or teenagers who should not have been downing the Tesco plonk we guzzle by the bottle or listening to our endless thoughts on the O'Brien scandal.

What gives the multi-generational set stability are the Elders, as we over-39s have been for convenience called. We Elders have deep, deep roots in the community, and although we go on holiday, we come back to our homes.  The younger members, especially the foreign students, leave Edinburgh on holiday or permanently, but they eventually come back, if only for a visit. Foreign students who return to their old haunts (e.g. Toronto) sometimes discover that everything has changed and their old friends have dispersed and moved on, or have no time for them. This isn't likely to happen with us Elders, for we are old and stable. Our sentimental young can fly free confident in the knowledge that as long as the Elders live, we will be up for a drink and a chat.

As a thirty-something Single, I found myself with a lot of twenty-something Single friends. I put this down to the fact that I was were twenty-something Singles are, i.e. grad school, and that we had the same lifestyle: Catholic, no kids, feverishly studying, longing to party, wondering where The One was. But, of course, I expected and hoped my twenty-something friends would get married because that's what they wanted to do. My surprise when I got engaged (age 37) before some of them did! And then I ran off to the UK. How very unstable and unreliable of me. Fortunately, I had a reputation for mad pranks and surprising behaviour. My friend Lily's summation of B.A. was, "I'm so thankful. I was worried he'd be too normal."

But now I am definitely old and stable and set in my ways, and even if I did have a baby, the walls of the Historical House are super-thick, so he or she could wail away comfortably in his or her room while the rest of us guzzled Tesco plonk in the dining-room.

What I am saying here is that if you are a twenty-five year old Single, of course most of your friends are going to get married and go. And therefore you must not put all your friendship eggs in the youth basket. You should go out of your way to be friendly to interesting and interested older married couples whose children have flown the nest, or to middle-aged couples who haven't had children, or to older Singles who love being Single but are also sociable. It is especially helpful, I think, to make friends with Catholic Singles who honestly enjoy their Catholic Single way of life and live it to the hilt.

You can also set down roots yourself as you grow older, and become a sort of bird house for younger Singles to visit occasionally as they flit about in their unstable, adventurous, youthful way. I adore the younger members of my set, but I am rooted in reality and realize that they have a lot of flitting to do before they settle down, and they are very likely to settle somewhere else. This is not as painful for me (age 39++) as it might be for you, not only because I have B.A. (a very big because), but because I know I have older friends who simply aren't going anywhere. Well, the grave, I suppose, but there's no need to worry about that quite yet.

Poor Boston

I feel awful. All those hurt people, and at least three people killed. I feel particularly sad for the man whose 8 year old son rushed to hug him as he approached the finish line and... 

This morning I got a message from Boston Girl, and she and her family are all okay.

That made my day. And compared to the suffering in Boston, all my woes seem pretty small--laughable, even.  I keep thinking about Boston Girl's Facebook photo, which is of her hugging her husband and little baby, and of the two of us--before the husband was met or the baby a glimmer--hanging out, laughing at Talledega Nights until we cried, and of all the little adventures and conversations I wrote about in Seraphic Singles.

What a horrible, cowardly, nasty thing for someone to do: to place bombs--bombs full of ball-bearings--where large crowds of strangers will be gathering to congratulate their loved ones for managing to run 26.5 miles. Such an innocent, happy occasion, and such a tribute to the spirit of self-mastery, a marathon.

But I suppose someone thought his thrill or his cause or his feelings of righteousness or his message was just so much more important than the innocent happiness of ordinary Boston folk. That's what evil looks like: my thrill, my cause, my message is more important than your innocent happiness, than your life, than your loved ones.

Update: Glad I saw this.

When She Chooses Him Over You

Here's one of the most painful facts of female existence. There are women who will put their latest romantic/sexual relationship before any other consideration in life: before their friends, before their children, before their jobs, before their marriages, before their health, before their sanity.

Sexual infatuation is a drug, and some women become addicts. Other women are just--well--ordinary human women. Most women naturally want a special man in their lives and make him their Number One priority. Marriage is supposed to make this tendency a safe, good one.

But it does hurt at least a little when your best friend falls in love or gets married. Quite obviously she loves some guy better than you, even if she has known you for twenty years and him for six months. Whoa. Ouch. Life.

If you are under twenty-five, the tendency of women to privilege some man over their female friends may come as a shock to you. If you are over twenty-five, you may have noticed this already. If you are over thirty, you're probably used to it. Life--you know? (Shrug.) Whadayagonnado?

Pop music is full of wonderful songs about "men come and go, but sisterhood is forever." It's a lovely idea, but come on. Although women don't usually compete with each other with the same bloodthirsty gusto as men, women do indeed compete with each other, and if it has something to do with a man... Whew! Look out. Even the nicest, kindest, women-loving women can go crazy with jealous rage.

But I should stress that not all women battle or compete much or often over men. One of the most annoying things about being a Single woman is going to a party of married couples where the Married women act like a you are a vixen in the hen-house just because you are having a conversation with one of the Married men. I should also stress that not all Married women are like that, either, although few things annoy Married me more socially than watching a Single woman chase any man around a party. "Sit still, woman," I think. "If he wants to talk to you, he'll talk to you."

But I'm not really thinking about the occasional social unpleasantness between the Married and the Single. I'm thinking about young women discovering that they have been displaced in their girlfriends' affections by their girlfriends' boyfriends. I am especially thinking about the young lady whose friend is now dating her ex-boyfriend.

Treason, we howl. Treason! How dare she? How can she be on his side, let alone at his side? AAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!

Really, it hurts. It really, really hurts. But it happens. And only if you are really lucky will she discuss it with you first. She is much more likely to sneak around or lie about it because she doesn't want to hurt you or feel like a bad friend, etc., etc.

So what do you do? Well, there are a number of things you might do.

First, admit to yourself and God that you feel betrayed and disrespected and even disbelieved, if you told your friend that your ex-boyfriend is a rat-fiend from hell.

Second, admit to yourself and God that as you fell for the guy, you know better than anyone how easy might have been for your friend for fall for the guy.

Third, ponder the faults of your ex, and feel compassion for your friend because now she has to deal with them. Pray for her. Go talk to a good priest about it all.

Fourth, draw some boundaries for yourself and for her. Her love life is her love life. You don't have any right to know what she does with her love life, and she has no right to impose her love life on you. If you don't want her to talk to you about Scooter, say "Because Scooter is my ex-boyfriend, I don't feel comfortable talking about Scooter." If you don't want Scooter in your place, tell your friend that as much as you care about her and want her to be happy, you don't want your ex-boyfriend in your place. She, of course, is always welcome.

This is not forcing your friend to "choose between her friend and her man"--that staple of so many boring and painful high school and college dorm dramas. This is you choosing to remain friends with your friend, but not being forced to have a relationship with her boyfriend.

It's a tricky situation, one that calls for compassion, patience and strength. Friends respect their friends' boundaries, so if the girl who is dating your ex still wants to be your friend, she must respect your boundaries: if you don't want him in your living space, or to have to talk about him, then you must say so as kindly yet firmly as possible, and she must respect that. And you must respect that her love life is her business, not yours. It is not for you to complain about to mutual friends, and you can't tell her what to do or not to do.

Fifth, allow yourself to grieve a little--in private or with someone paid or trained to keep their mouths shut. The juiciness of "Mary's dating Anne's ex-boyfriend, and Anne is totally gutted" is too much of a temptation for the average college student not to share. "Mary's dating Anne's ex-boyfriend, and Anne seems totally cool with it" is not only a million times classier, it's too boring for others to want to talk about much.

It may be that you will never see your friend in the same light again. I know. And that's sad, and maybe she dreads that, but truth is what is, as Saint Thomas Aquinas taught. Forgive her and also remember that you have other friends. She wasn't put on this earth to be your Lifelong Special Confidante; you probably have other women in your life to confide in, women who won't tell your ex what you said about this or that. (Another newsflash: women often talk to our boyfriends and husbands about what our friends did or said unless doing so feels like real betrayal.) Meanwhile, continue to do whatever girl-time stuff you could still enjoy together: studying, watching films, going dancing, baking a cake, organizing mass pedicure parties, messing around with chemistry sets, electric guitars or fabric scraps.

So. Compassion. Boundaries. Forgiveness. Adjusting. And hope.

***
Help B.A. support his colonial wife's unpaid-blogging lifestyle by pre-ordering Seraphic's Ceremony of Innocence today! 

Love of Friends

Love of place, love of music, love of family, love of friends....

I've noticed that a number of popular television shows center on casts of friends. I wonder if it represents a shift from shows about families. In the Eighties, "Cheers" seemed to be unique in that it portrayed a loyal group of friends rather than a loyal family. But in the wake of "Friends" and "Sex and the City", today we have "How I Met Your Mother" and "The Big Bang Theory"  among the other shows that advertise themselves on the television in the Historical House.  And I am wondering if the fantasy of a family whose problems can be solved, forgiven and forgotten in 30 minutes has been replaced by the fantasy of a group of friends who never break up because their problems can also be solved, forgiven and (mostly) forgotten in 30 minutes.

Could it be that it has become romantic to have a big group of friends?

To be a migrant is to have part of your heart in one country and the other in another, and it is rare to feel that your heart is whole. This week my heart has been whole because for once I have been in Canada with B.A, who brings Edinburgh with him wherever he goes. The only time this trip  I have pined for Edinburgh was Monday morning when I heard about the abdication and wanted desperately to organize an emergency dinner party so that my EF friends could gather together in an upper room (so to speak) and drink a lot of gin while we made sense of the business.

But otherwise I have been very happy and, having had a good visit with all my family, have begun to go out and find my Toronto friends.

Yesterday B.A. and I went to my Canadian theological school to see a priest friend, and we were summoned to his office for, said the receptionist, he said there was another friend there who'd like to see me.

What a surprise I got.

"Hello, Old One," said a twenty-something year old man in a chair.

"Hello, Small One," I said. "I mean, Young One."

Some years ago I was did an internship as an assistant college chaplain. Among the students who liked to hang out in the chaplaincy offices was a teenage discerner. Somehow we began to call each other "Old One" and "Young One." He says now that this is because I hated being thought of as old, and that there is nothing a teenage undergrad hates more than being reminded that he is young.

I am not so sure of this interpretation. Personally, I think young men love being cheerily insolent to older women if they can get away with it, and certainly I enjoy putting young men in their place, if only with the information that I am older and therefore naturally wiser than they. And, ironically, although Young One constantly called me Old One, he was the friendliest of the bunch, the one who most seemed to enjoy the company of the Old.

Amusingly, the sympathy between Young One and Old One led to the one-and-only-time I earned a professional rebuke for ministerial boundary-crossing. If I remember this correctly, I encountered Young One on his way to Mass during some college break, when almost all the undergrads but he had gone home. It may have been Easter Sunday.  Afterwards I was going to lunch with a number of fellow theology students, including men of the religious order Young One was discerning, so on impulse I invited him along. Young One accepted the invitation with alacrity, as otherwise he would have had a boring and lonely afternoon, so off we went to lunch.  

I do not remember how this came to the ears of my immediate supervisor. Perhaps, I told the supervisor myself. But I do remember I got a LECTURE.

Personally, I thought it  ridiculous that it could be wrong to invite a bored and lonely undergrad to a restaurant Sunday lunch with a bunch of grad students of theology, some of whom were male religious a serious discerner quite naturally might like to meet.  I speak as one who had already listened to no fewer than three seminars on Healthy Boundaries in Ministry. Of course you cannot get romantically or sexually involved with those to whom you minister, even if you are a Single laywoman, but we cannot allow paranoia to stop us from being friendly.

That is my one exciting story about Young One, who is now Young One, [Initial, Initial], and it reminds me of this article I wrote for the CR, which you might enjoy.  

Single people, more than anyone else, must rejoice in their friends.

How Singles Can Annoy Married People

Note to New Readers: I have written for Single people, in a Single-positive way, for six years, at least six days a week. This is the only post I have ever written in all that time that describes why married people occasionally get fed up with their Single friends. Many Single people have complained to me that they feel abandoned by married friends. Whereas the number one reason why they don't see their married friends so much any more is that with marriage comes responsibilities, work, and a husband who often wants his wife to stay home and keep him company, there are indeed a few things that bug some married people about some of their single friends and acquaintances and even just single strangers.

I am posting this explanation because I am tired of complete strangers telling me I hate Singles.

I will have to breathe in and out for a bit to get my composure. I made the mistake of entering into a Facebook conversation about Singledom.

There was a complaint that the Church does "nothing" for Single people, which is what I was going to write about, but then I caught a remark directed at me that contradicted my feelings of being alone on New Year's Eve.

I had volunteered that my husband and I were alone on New Year's Eve because most of our friends were at a party for Singles, and how great it was that Singles could take matters in their own hands and plan events for themselves. The divorced person pointed out that I was not really alone, as I was with I was my husband. ":-)"

I saw red.

One should never write anything when seeing red, so I clicked away from Facebook.

I will not go into the reasons (yet) I saw red, or a defense of my feelings of loneliness on New Year's Eve, which actually had nothing to do with the Singles' party and something to do with being 5,338 kilometers from home and family. Instead I will try to write something constructive.

I have been writing for Singles for at least six years, and I was Single from birth until 25 and then (arguably) from the age of 26 to 38, although the annulment didn't come through until I was 28. So that's at least ten years of dithering What-Is-My-Vocation? and Where-Is-He? Single Life, plus much correspondence with Single people. And, admittedly unusually, most of my social circle in Edinburgh is composed of Single people. I want you to keep that in mind when you read my following remarks.

One of the biggest complaints of Singles that I come across is that they are left out of social events hosted by Married Friends. I imagine this is true of some Married Friends, including B.A. and me, although we have no policy of shunning Single friends. Our resources are limited, so we invite some friends some times, and others other times. We invite Singles alone or with other Singles or with Married people, or entertain just one or two Married couples, and we don't think marital status is much of a guest list issue. (I might briefly ponder the kindness of a guest being the ONLY Single there, and the danger of being suspected of setting up the ONLY female Single guest with the ONLY male Single guest.)

B.A. and I entertain unusually often for Married People, and here is something Singles often don't get: Married People don't usually have much time or inclination for non-family parties.(Married men are notoriously wedded to sofa and TV.)

This is particularly true if they have children. Children are often so embarrassing and their behaviour so non-adult, that it seems to their parents a kindness to inflict them only on their relations, who love them, and on other adults with children, who are guaranteed to understand/be immune.

Also, the Married State is so different from the Single State that Married People often find a relief in the company of Married People we do not find among Singles. There is just so much that can be explained without words.

And then some Single people (not all, obviously, since my own Single friends tend not to do this) annoy Married People by constantly talking about being Single, and how sad it is to be Single, and how much better it is to be Married, and how lucky the Married friend is.

Some Married People (like me) do not mind talking to Single People about their Single state. Others can't stand it.

Some Married People, perceiving the Singleness as a problem to be solved, offer thoughtful spouse-hunting advice, which the Single tearfully rejects. Some Married People, thinking one should look on the Bright Side of Single Life, suggest ways in which other Singles have found happiness, which the Single tearfully rejects.

Some Married People invite a Single woman and a Single man to the same parties, thinking these Singles will be pleased, only to be berated later. Some Married People avoid matchmaking entirely, only to be berated eventually.

With some Singles, some Married People think they just can't win.

In short, it's not necessarily because a Single is Single that she or he isn't invited to parties.

One of the things about being Married is that you see Single life from the other side, and can report back to Single friends about what useful information you can now see. So here is what I've learned:

Here are ways to annoy a Married Person:

1. Deny or belittle her experiences or feelings, particularly with the remark "Well, at least you have a husband."

Married Woman: I miss my family so much.
Unusually Clueless Single: Well, at least you have a husband.

Married Woman: Actually I was in hospital. Miscarriage.
Unusually Clueless Single: I'm sorry. Well, at least you have a husband.

Married Woman: Paid work, housework. Paid work, housework. Paid work, housework. Visit parents. Visit in-laws. It never ends, and I never have time to myself, and sometimes I wish I could just run away to Paris for a weekend.
Unusually Clueless Single: Well, at least you have a husband.

2. Tell a Married Person what marriage is supposed to be like (beyond non-abusive).

Unusually Clueless Single: Sex isn't really that important to a marriage, is it?

Unusually Clueless Single: The work of marriage should be 50-50!

Unusually Clueless Single: The most important thing is that sex be romantic!

Unusually Clueless Single: NFP is just so easy! Why would anyone ever be tempted to use anything else?

3. Upbraid a Married Person for noticing that some of the 3.5 billion men she is not married to are attractive. Trowel on the shame. Go on. She deserves it.

Married Woman: Ah, that new usher is certainly a charmer!

Unusually Clueless Single: I'm really shocked to hear you say that. You, a married woman!

4. Upbraid or gossip about a Married Person for inviting you to a party in which you were the only Single, or the only Single your age, or one of two Singles, the other being male.

5. Upbraid or gossip about a Married Person for not inviting you to a party in which you would have been the only Single, or the only Single your age, or one of two Singles, the other being a male who could have been the One.


In general, people like people who are happy, upbeat, don't complain much and don't take swipes at them for their way of life. And most of my Single friends are like that, which is one reason why I have so many Single friends.

Don't worry. I will soon write another post on ways in which Married People Can Annoy Singles, although readers will be much more up-to-date on that than I!

Four Parties in a Row...

Goodness me. I found myself crawling into bed after 2:30 AM yet again. It's a Christmas Party Marathon. Christmas Eve. Christmas. Feast of St. Stephen. Feast of St. John. Today is the Feast of the Holy Innocents, but I don't think B.A. and I are going to any parties. I'm going instead to my favourite cocktail bar for a Girl Drink.

Squinting back into the past, I am absolutely sure my parents did not go to many parties (or any cocktail bars), so I think all this partying--at least at my age--is an offshoot of being childless. (I'm mentioning childlessness again as it is something most of my Single readers and I still share and, indeed, something that you do risk if you wait past the age of 35 for The One--although how much worse if you marry The Zero at 25 and still don't have kids?)

Christmas is apparently a time of great gloom for many, so I think the best things anyone can do are to (A) plan ahead to ensure oneself and those under one's influence a happy, emotionally supported Christmas and (B) concentrate on what you have instead of on what you lack.

I have a lot of parties.

Not to be a Smug Scot, but parties are more fun here than they were in North America. I think this is because they have structure. The usual, North American stuff-everyone-in-the-same-room-and-pour-drink-into-them model just didn't work for me. What really work are dinner parties. Dinner parties involve a clear plan, easy rituals, procession, recession, a three part structure.

For example, dinner parties at the Historical House involve aperatifs in the sitting-room, then a procession to the dining-room for supper, and finally a recession back to the sitting-room, sometimes in two parts: if dinner conversation has been terrifically male-dominated, the ladies leave first, to be joined by the gentlemen when they have finally grown tired of what it was they were talking about and are curious to know what the ladies are talking about. Otherwise, we all leave for the sitting-room together.

Personally, I like to end a dinner party with a film, which breaks up the very long after-dinner drink fest, and adds something to think about.

Another wonderful after-dinner activity is to sing around the piano. There was singing around the piano after a dinner party I went to yesterday, and as we sang Christmas carols, this was particularly enjoyable, for us, if not for the neighbours.

I hasten to mention that life in North America and, indeed, Single Life, is perfectly suited to dinner parties. I had occasional dinner parties when I was in my early and mid-twenties, living with Mum and Dad: all I had to do to secure permission was say, "May I have a dinner party, Mum and Dad?" and make sure dining-room and kitchen were left cleaner than I found them. These dinner parties started at a later hour (say 8), which gave my family a chance to eat their own dinner.

As I had a large family, family dinners were arguably dinner parties in themselves. And this in itself is an incentive to those, like me, who grew up with a lot of people and now find themselves living with only one or two. It's a return to the normal life of childhood, with a lot more drink.

Update: The research on gender differences in conversation is incredibly interesting. The more women there are in a group, the more comfortable women feel speaking, apparently, and one Harvard study revealed that women students at Harvard were more likely to speak up in class if their lecturer was a woman.

What this suggests to me is that at work and school, women should do our best to assert ourselves in conversations and classroom discussions, but in private life to take more of a conversational back seat and become famous good listeners. It strikes me that the centuries-old libel that women talk too much is bandied about by some of the men who want to talk even more than they do and feel frustrated and hurt when they don't feel sufficiently listened to. Bless their little hearts.

Incidentally, we already know how useless it is to talk to 90% of the men of the world about their feelings, right? Just remember this is not because they don't have any; it's just that male feelings are not that connected to male knowledge and male speech, especially when the males are young.

Non-Reader: But how do you FEEL?

Honest Young Male: I don't know.

Non-Reader: What do you mean you don't know? How can you not know?

Honest Young Male: I don't know.

Non-Reader: But that's crazy! Meanwhile I NEED to KNOW how you FEEL!!!

Honest Young Male (extremely uncomfortable): I'm leaving.

Very often, the least helpful way to figure out how young men feel is to ask them.* It's a better idea to pay attention to both their body language and then what they do. I remember one young man getting dead drunk at a wedding while punching his male pals boisterously and glaring at the pretty girls and yelling "I'll never put my head in a noose!" Dear, dear, dear. What a lonely soul.

*I suspect this is much more true in dating relationships than in friendships. Although men are usually reluctant to tell you exactly how they feel about you, they often have no problem telling you how they feel about other girls, at least if they have no reason to believe you will get mad at them for it.

Who Gets the Keys?

I'm not posting the letter that inspired them, but I had many thoughts this morning on how women make themselves emotionally vulnerable to men. Men make themselves emotionally vulnerable too, sometimes, so I'll add something about that to the end of the post.

The easiest way a young woman can make herself vulnerable to a young man is to tell him that she is crazy about him and wants him to be her boyfriend.

The best case scenario is that the young man is beside himself with joy because he never dreamed that Suzy-Q felt the same way about him as he felt about her.

Then there a number of unhappy scenarios, each worse than the last.

1. The Good, Sensitive Man

The young man is shocked because he never thought of her this way. A very sensitive man, he now wonders if he has been leading her on without knowing it, and is sorry. Mindful of her feelings, he says that this is the greatest compliment he's ever had, but he doesn't want to date her. One great face-saving remark is "I don't want to ruin the friendship."

This sensitive young man then avoids the girl for the next month or two because he intuits that his presence may be a source of pain to her. He keeps her at a friendly distance, and then slowly returns to his normal schedule. He is careful not to give her any encouragement, and if she renews her advances, he says "No, I'm sorry" very firmly.

2. The Good, Insensitive Man

The young man is shocked and says he doesn't want to ruin the friendship, but he just carries on as before. He doesn't understand that he and the girl are no longer on the same page. He doesn't understand that she isn't one of the guys and that treating her like one of the guys is a constant source of pain. He might even call her up to tell her all his personal problems, just as before, and all about the girl he has a crush on.

3. The Emotional Opportunist

The young man is shocked because although he has been working on his cover his entire life, he always thought this girl might have guessed that he was a closeted homosexual.

He realizes that her regard for him is compatible with his lifelong goal of not being suspected of being gay. So he either agrees to become her boyfriend--a paragon, too, as he will never initiate kissing, let alone pressure her for sex--or he will hold out a carrot to keep her hooked. In the case of one of my readers and her closeted gay love interest, the carrot was "For now, just friends."

Then they go everywhere together (when he wants) and are the very bestest of friends and only the girl's most sophisticated friends are quizzical rather than envious when she brags that Boyfriend has never even tried to kiss her. Meanwhile, she wonders why she has never met his best friends in the city, or what he does on holidays, or why she has never met his parents, or why he has so many gay friends.

By the way, I know perfectly well not all closeted gay men act like this. But some darn well do, especially in communities where gayness is still such an issue, e.g. ours.

4. The Sexual Opportunist

The young man is not shocked because her feelings have been obvious to him for some time. In fact, he is rather amused. He knows that her feelings will not go away just because he says No. In fact, if he says "No" but acts "Yes" he can always point to the butt-covering fact that he had said "No" and she was free to do what she wanted. Then he proceeds to play her like a violin, and if he drives her crazy enough, she will eventually offer some kind of sexual intimacy, and off come the clothes faster than you can say Chloderlos de Laclos.

And that's my worst case scenario: you make yourself vulnerable to a cynical, clever, sophisticated, monstrously selfish man, and he takes both emotional AND sexual advantage of you. It probably happens every day, most often to sweet, innocent, religious girls who had no idea men could act like that.

So even if you do not believe, as I do, that you should never, ever make a first move as obvious as "I like you, be my boyfriend", for heaven's sake--and your own--consider both the reputation of the man and if there are any very, VERY clear signals from him that he likes, admires and respects you before risking making a fool or a victim of yourself.

Now a word about innocent men. All the scenarios I've listed above can be flipped, so that the besotted person is a man and the startled beloved is a woman. I will state for the record, however, that I have never heard of a closeted young Lesbian using a besotted, oblivious young man for cover.

You may have come across classic novels in which young women are very proud of the suitors they have and dangle them on a string. You may remember, for example, beautiful Philippa Gordon of Anne of the Island, trying to decide between Alec and Alonzo. You may also remember the heroine of An Old-Fashioned Girl deciding not to lead on her rich admirer anymore because she had learned her best friend was in love with him. Their behaviour was never strictly condemned, possibly because both plain Lucy Maud Montgomery and Louisa May Alcott wished they had that kind of power over men themselves and because it was the only power 19th century women really had.

But it is the 21st century and we are full citizens who can vote, work, save and spend money. Whatever men can do by law, we can do by law. There is no longer an excuse for using men's feelings to get the thrill that power brings.

It is not okay to jerk men around for a thrill or because you are too cowardly to give one a plain and firm "NO." Men are just as human as you and I. The Golden Rule applies.

Friendships with Reserve

Men and women can be friends, but men can't be women friends and women can't be men friends. Let us be clear on this.

I have had some interesting correspondence about the following situations:

1. The man has a crush on a girl. He tells another girl all about it. He gets over his crush on the first girl. He develops a crush on the second girl. The second girl doesn't take him at all seriously.

2. The girl has a crush on a man. She tells another man all about it. She gets over her crush on the first man. She develops a crush on the second man. The second man doesn't seem to be interested anymore.

We could chalk this up as a tragedy of bad timing, or we could posit that there is something unwise in telling members-of-the-opposite-sex friends about our crushes.

If there is one thing I have learned about men, it is that they are not girls. And if they are attracted to girls, they do not appreciate being treated as if they were girls. Sometimes they resist this quite vigorously. But sometimes they do not because, being attracted to girls, they will cut girls a lot of slack. But, in general, they don't like being made to feel like the palace eunuch. Their semi-conscious resentment could be expressed in the parlance of the neighbourhood of my youth as "What am I? Chopped liver?"

Male friends who identify as gay do not seem to mind as much, but even then you really must understand that they are not "just some of the girls" even if they say they are. They are men, with male sexuality, and whereas their advice might be have an internal logic as far as men who identify as gay are concerned, it might make absolutely no sense for women, particularly chaste ones. Whenever men who identify as gay give me or tell me about relationship advice they have given other women ("And I told her, Darrleeng, you should take a lover"), my hair stands on end.

I like my guy friends so much, I don't treat them as if they were girls who might enjoy talking about girl stuff, e.g. my feelings. Possibly I slip occasionally, and bore them senseless, for which I apologize.

There's a fine line between treating all nice young Single men as if they were just Husband Potentials/Impossibilities and treating them as if they were girls. I call it Friendship with Reserve. It's respectful, it's kind, and, if this applies to your state of life, it keeps the options open.