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cosmolinguist(I wrote this Wednesday night and then there was something wrong with our Internet connection so I couldn't post it until now.)
I've seen one of those "You Might Be a Lutheran If..." things that said "...you know what a Lutheran Church Basement Woman is." And though I'd never heard the phrase before, I knew exactly what it meant. It's the phrase I've used (if only in my head ... well, until now) ever since to describe them.
Know them? Heck, my mom is one! I remember thinking. Well, except maybe she's not quite old enough yet... I don't know if entirely grey or white hair is essential, but it certainly does help. LCBWs also should ideally be very no-nonsense and stern and complain loudly whenever something isn't done exactly as she thinks it should be. Yet at the same time they're hard not to like, because after your grandmother's funeral those women make sure everyone has enough hotdish and buttered rolls, and then they walk around asking if anyone needs more coffee with their dessert. Which can be very comforting and nice, albeit in a way that probably doesn't make sense to anyone who's not from the Midwest.
Not all LCBW activities actually take place in the church basement, but a lot of them do. Providing food for things like funerals is a big thing, but there are also unofficial or quasi-official church activities like making quilts to give away and getting stuff (candles, wine, wafers, flowers, etc.) ready for church every Sunday. They do a lot of stuff that doesn't really get noticed but whose absence, if they stopped doing it, would be very noticeable.
To be fair, other denominations have them too—my Catholic grandma was something of a Church Basement Woman, in her day—but, as I've said, I first heard the phrase in connection with Lutherans, and also as it's usually through my Lutheran mother that I am exposed to the phenomenon, I do tend to think of it as a Lutheran thing.*
Tonight my mom got to be an LCBW by bringing a dessert for people to have with their coffee after church. After a brief period in which my mom was sure her friends weren't coming and it'd be just her and her twelve pieces of lemon dessert against the onslaught of Lutherans after church, everyone showed up and everything was fine.
I watched Julie bend over to go right for a certain drawer and, when that didn't seem to satisfy her, try another. Still empty-handed, she stood up and asked, "Has the hiding place for the good sharp knives moved again?" That made me laugh, though it doesn't sound funny now.
As I was using one of those sharp knives to slice the desserts, Julie said, "I like your shirt, Holly!" My concentratoin on the task at hand was such that it didn't register with me at first but then I noticed that I was wearing the binary shirt today and said, "Oh! Thank you!" I wanted to say I was impressed that she understood it—I'm so used to having to explain the thing—but there's no way to do that without sounding condescending, so I hoped I managed to stop talking in time.
The three of them started talking about LeAnn's son's girlfriend, mostly how glad they were that he finally had one. Then Mom asked, "Is it .. getting pretty serious now?" in a voice of someone who already knows the answer. I know she does.
"More serious than I'd like!" LeAnn replied. "Now, Holly," she said, turning to me, "did you know her?" I'm still surprised to be included in these Adult Conversations, so I was thrown off for a second. It's a valid question anyway; the girl went to the same college I did.
Then they talk about the boyfriend of one of Julie's daughters, who made her fondue for Valentine's Day. They talk about not wanting their kids to end up alone (yet, to varying degrees, they're wary of these Serious Relationships; none of them say that but I know it). Since both the others have had a turn, I'm afraid my mom is going to go next and talk about (or the others will ask about) me. But that doesn't happen, so I'm free to comment how amusing I find it that our moms all want to see us married off.
"Well, 'Kenzie's 27!" Julie says, and I laugh, because even if she didn't mean that to be a justification it sounds like one. This is another parental thing I don't understand, and I say it out loud, too:
"My mom's always said I couldn't get married before I was out of school. But I think if I waited too much longer than that, she'd start asking me when I was going to get married. I told her that once and she said, 'Yeah, you're probably right.' " I don't know if Mom liked that much, she never does like it when I point out how weirdly she thinks.
"I just hope Chris doesn't get Rachel pregnant before she gets out of school," was all Mom said. This is a recurring thing of hers. And while I think my brother is incredibly stupid most of the time (and, fairly or not, I don't think much of his girlfriend either), even I am willing to give him credit for being smart enough to use birth control. Because that's not even a matter of intelligence, it's a matter of self-interest, and my brother is good at looking out for himself. A baby would cramp his style severely.
My mom has never said more than this on the subject of pre-marital sex. Earlier versions of this statement have included a bit more disapproval in her voice, but even then it seemed she was resigned to the fact that it was going to happen anyway (which is good, because it was, no matter what kind of restrictions she tried). She's never said anything at all to me about sex. Ever. (Well, wait, I think when my 16-year-old cousin got pregnant and this was such a big deal for my Catholic side of the family, Mom looked at me and said "You better not ever do a thing like this!" I was twelve at the time. They never told me where babies came from, either, so I don't know if I knew that yet or not.) That's odd, but fine with me. I don't want to talk about sex with my mom, especially at this late date, so I'm glad I give off virginal vibes or whatever. My desire not to get pregnant is already sufficient, Mom, I don't need the encouragement.
I had to pee so I went upstairs and on my way back the pastor saw me walk by the door of his office and snagged me. I had a short but excrutiating conversation with him, which consisted of me fending off questions like "Why aren't you going back to school?" "But you're so close...aren't you?" "Why do you want to go back to England?" (That one was easy, at least. I even remember what I said: because of someone I know who is there.) "Oh, well, that's a good reason," he said. "Is this person male or female?" "So are things with this male ... how serious are they?" And those are just the ones I remember.
Downstairs again I walk through the tables to get to the kitchen and hear Juile calling to me. She wanted me to show my t-shirt to her husband; apparently she thinks he'll like it. So I let him read it, and then another guy happens to be standing there to whom she also says, "You gotta read this." This has made me something of a spectacle to the people in the kitchen (of which there are several more than there were when I left). I say again that it's fun to be so appreciated and not just thought weird because usually nobody gets it, and one of the people in the kitchen tells me, "Yeah, I get it," and I'm not surprised at that because she teaches the computer classes at my high school. It was more fun than I'd expected to have when I arbitrarily grabbed the shirt this morning.
By then it was time to start cleaning up. Some random LCBWs appeared, the type that, after they've eaten their dessert and drunk their coffee, will bring their dishes to the kitchen and "help" a little. Mom and her two friends worked with amazing speed and efficiency, and they already know where everything goes; I have to ask. But I'm good at drying things, so I did that for a while. "You guys are fast," I told Julie, smiling.
"Well, we've done this about a million times," she said. And it's true; they have. I've seen them do this kind of stuff for what seems like a dozen grad-parties now. They even talk as they'er getting ready to leave about how serving desserts is no big deal and they don't mind doing it. They sound like they don't understand how anyone could. Which sort of amuses me, but sort of doesn't surprise me, either. I like it too. (And not just because it's better than actually going to the Lenten services!)
I don't think a life as a Lutheran Church Basement Woman is in my future. It doesn't seem likely, at this point. Being a Lutheran doesn't seem likely, for that matter. Sure, I'm not a fan of the theology or getting up early on Sunday mornings to go to church, I'm just enough of a dork to like dishing up sweet concoctions for people to have with their coffee.
* There are differences among the denominations, apparently, as was pointed out by my parents when Mom and I got home. Stunning conversationalists that they are, Mom and Dad were comparing the numbers of people they'd had in their respective churches This is a standard observation and topic for discussion. Dad started with, "There weren't very many in church tonight."
"We had quite a few," Mom said. "But the confirmation kids are supposed to go."
"And you guys have lunch!" Dad pointed out.
"And we have lunch," Mom agreed. "All the Lutheran churches do that."
Heh. I think my dad is envious.
I've seen one of those "You Might Be a Lutheran If..." things that said "...you know what a Lutheran Church Basement Woman is." And though I'd never heard the phrase before, I knew exactly what it meant. It's the phrase I've used (if only in my head ... well, until now) ever since to describe them.
Know them? Heck, my mom is one! I remember thinking. Well, except maybe she's not quite old enough yet... I don't know if entirely grey or white hair is essential, but it certainly does help. LCBWs also should ideally be very no-nonsense and stern and complain loudly whenever something isn't done exactly as she thinks it should be. Yet at the same time they're hard not to like, because after your grandmother's funeral those women make sure everyone has enough hotdish and buttered rolls, and then they walk around asking if anyone needs more coffee with their dessert. Which can be very comforting and nice, albeit in a way that probably doesn't make sense to anyone who's not from the Midwest.
Not all LCBW activities actually take place in the church basement, but a lot of them do. Providing food for things like funerals is a big thing, but there are also unofficial or quasi-official church activities like making quilts to give away and getting stuff (candles, wine, wafers, flowers, etc.) ready for church every Sunday. They do a lot of stuff that doesn't really get noticed but whose absence, if they stopped doing it, would be very noticeable.
To be fair, other denominations have them too—my Catholic grandma was something of a Church Basement Woman, in her day—but, as I've said, I first heard the phrase in connection with Lutherans, and also as it's usually through my Lutheran mother that I am exposed to the phenomenon, I do tend to think of it as a Lutheran thing.*
Tonight my mom got to be an LCBW by bringing a dessert for people to have with their coffee after church. After a brief period in which my mom was sure her friends weren't coming and it'd be just her and her twelve pieces of lemon dessert against the onslaught of Lutherans after church, everyone showed up and everything was fine.
I watched Julie bend over to go right for a certain drawer and, when that didn't seem to satisfy her, try another. Still empty-handed, she stood up and asked, "Has the hiding place for the good sharp knives moved again?" That made me laugh, though it doesn't sound funny now.
As I was using one of those sharp knives to slice the desserts, Julie said, "I like your shirt, Holly!" My concentratoin on the task at hand was such that it didn't register with me at first but then I noticed that I was wearing the binary shirt today and said, "Oh! Thank you!" I wanted to say I was impressed that she understood it—I'm so used to having to explain the thing—but there's no way to do that without sounding condescending, so I hoped I managed to stop talking in time.
The three of them started talking about LeAnn's son's girlfriend, mostly how glad they were that he finally had one. Then Mom asked, "Is it .. getting pretty serious now?" in a voice of someone who already knows the answer. I know she does.
"More serious than I'd like!" LeAnn replied. "Now, Holly," she said, turning to me, "did you know her?" I'm still surprised to be included in these Adult Conversations, so I was thrown off for a second. It's a valid question anyway; the girl went to the same college I did.
Then they talk about the boyfriend of one of Julie's daughters, who made her fondue for Valentine's Day. They talk about not wanting their kids to end up alone (yet, to varying degrees, they're wary of these Serious Relationships; none of them say that but I know it). Since both the others have had a turn, I'm afraid my mom is going to go next and talk about (or the others will ask about) me. But that doesn't happen, so I'm free to comment how amusing I find it that our moms all want to see us married off.
"Well, 'Kenzie's 27!" Julie says, and I laugh, because even if she didn't mean that to be a justification it sounds like one. This is another parental thing I don't understand, and I say it out loud, too:
"My mom's always said I couldn't get married before I was out of school. But I think if I waited too much longer than that, she'd start asking me when I was going to get married. I told her that once and she said, 'Yeah, you're probably right.' " I don't know if Mom liked that much, she never does like it when I point out how weirdly she thinks.
"I just hope Chris doesn't get Rachel pregnant before she gets out of school," was all Mom said. This is a recurring thing of hers. And while I think my brother is incredibly stupid most of the time (and, fairly or not, I don't think much of his girlfriend either), even I am willing to give him credit for being smart enough to use birth control. Because that's not even a matter of intelligence, it's a matter of self-interest, and my brother is good at looking out for himself. A baby would cramp his style severely.
My mom has never said more than this on the subject of pre-marital sex. Earlier versions of this statement have included a bit more disapproval in her voice, but even then it seemed she was resigned to the fact that it was going to happen anyway (which is good, because it was, no matter what kind of restrictions she tried). She's never said anything at all to me about sex. Ever. (Well, wait, I think when my 16-year-old cousin got pregnant and this was such a big deal for my Catholic side of the family, Mom looked at me and said "You better not ever do a thing like this!" I was twelve at the time. They never told me where babies came from, either, so I don't know if I knew that yet or not.) That's odd, but fine with me. I don't want to talk about sex with my mom, especially at this late date, so I'm glad I give off virginal vibes or whatever. My desire not to get pregnant is already sufficient, Mom, I don't need the encouragement.
I had to pee so I went upstairs and on my way back the pastor saw me walk by the door of his office and snagged me. I had a short but excrutiating conversation with him, which consisted of me fending off questions like "Why aren't you going back to school?" "But you're so close...aren't you?" "Why do you want to go back to England?" (That one was easy, at least. I even remember what I said: because of someone I know who is there.) "Oh, well, that's a good reason," he said. "Is this person male or female?" "So are things with this male ... how serious are they?" And those are just the ones I remember.
Downstairs again I walk through the tables to get to the kitchen and hear Juile calling to me. She wanted me to show my t-shirt to her husband; apparently she thinks he'll like it. So I let him read it, and then another guy happens to be standing there to whom she also says, "You gotta read this." This has made me something of a spectacle to the people in the kitchen (of which there are several more than there were when I left). I say again that it's fun to be so appreciated and not just thought weird because usually nobody gets it, and one of the people in the kitchen tells me, "Yeah, I get it," and I'm not surprised at that because she teaches the computer classes at my high school. It was more fun than I'd expected to have when I arbitrarily grabbed the shirt this morning.
By then it was time to start cleaning up. Some random LCBWs appeared, the type that, after they've eaten their dessert and drunk their coffee, will bring their dishes to the kitchen and "help" a little. Mom and her two friends worked with amazing speed and efficiency, and they already know where everything goes; I have to ask. But I'm good at drying things, so I did that for a while. "You guys are fast," I told Julie, smiling.
"Well, we've done this about a million times," she said. And it's true; they have. I've seen them do this kind of stuff for what seems like a dozen grad-parties now. They even talk as they'er getting ready to leave about how serving desserts is no big deal and they don't mind doing it. They sound like they don't understand how anyone could. Which sort of amuses me, but sort of doesn't surprise me, either. I like it too. (And not just because it's better than actually going to the Lenten services!)
I don't think a life as a Lutheran Church Basement Woman is in my future. It doesn't seem likely, at this point. Being a Lutheran doesn't seem likely, for that matter. Sure, I'm not a fan of the theology or getting up early on Sunday mornings to go to church, I'm just enough of a dork to like dishing up sweet concoctions for people to have with their coffee.
* There are differences among the denominations, apparently, as was pointed out by my parents when Mom and I got home. Stunning conversationalists that they are, Mom and Dad were comparing the numbers of people they'd had in their respective churches This is a standard observation and topic for discussion. Dad started with, "There weren't very many in church tonight."
"We had quite a few," Mom said. "But the confirmation kids are supposed to go."
"And you guys have lunch!" Dad pointed out.
"And we have lunch," Mom agreed. "All the Lutheran churches do that."
Heh. I think my dad is envious.