Mothers-in-law, from the Outlaw's Perspective

Allow me to begin by sharing this joke from Basic Jokes:

During their vacation and while they were visiting Jerusalam, George's mother-in-law died.

With death certificates in hand, George went to the American Consulate Office to make arrangements to send the body back to the states for proper burial.

The Consul, after hearing of the death of the mother-in-law told George that the sending of a body back to the states for burial is very, very expensive. It could cost as much as $5,000.00.

The Consul continues, in most cases the person responsible for the remains normally decides to bury the body here. This would only cost $150.00.

George thinks for some time and answers, "I don't care how much it will cost to send the body back; that's what I want to do."

The Consul, after hearing this, says, "You must have loved your mother-in-law very much considering the difference in price."

"No, it's not that," says George. "You see, I know of a case years ago of a person that was buried here in Jerusalem. On the third day he arose from the dead! I just can't take that chance."

I don't know what it is about mothers-in-law, but they have long been the staple of stale late-night comedy and furtive, whispered conferences among married men since time immemorial. Happily, this is not the case with my mother-in-law, Mama Dodie. For most married men, meeting up with their mother-in-law is normally accompanied with dread. For me, meeting up with Mama Dodie is an occasion that is celebrated with a joyful enthusiasm Christians normally reserve for recalling Christ's resurrection.

Right now, she's in Houston assisting in the care of Ate Consuelo, and we miss her terribly. Odd sentiments, coming from a son-in-law, but then she'd be the first to agree that I'm rather odd to begin with. See you soon, Mima!

Terribly Quiet

Occasionally, I subject my readers to a post like this, to atone for not having posted anything of late. As I have yet to fully recover from my trip, or address the imposing stack of work that greeted me upon my return, please forgive me for falling back on an old staple, the inimitable Gilbert Keith Chesterton, as well as myself, circa the year of our Lord, 2007. Enjoy!

I apologize for the lack of activity in my blog. In a way, this hiatus of sorts reminds me of the incident between Adam Wayne and the shop owner in Chesterton's The Napoleon of Notting Hill. In that novel, Wayne visits the owner of a curiosity shop in order to drum up support for the defense of Notting Hill. Since I cannot do justice to the exchange between the two, let me allow Chesterton to do the narration:

"And how does your commerce go, you strange guardian of the past?" said Wayne, affably.

"Well, sir, not very well," replied the man, with that patient voice of his class which is one of the most heart-breaking things in the world. "Things are terribly quiet."

Wayne's eyes shone suddenly.

"A great saying," he said, "worthy of a man whose merchandise is human history. Terribly quiet; that is in two words the spirit of this age, as I have felt it from my cradle. I sometimes wondered how many other people felt the oppression of this union between quietude and terror. I see blank, well-ordered streets and men in black moving about inoffensively, sullenly. It goes on day after day, day after day, and nothing happens; but to me it is like a dream from which I might wake screaming. To me the straightness of our life is the straightness of a thin cord stretched tight. Its stillness is terrible. It might snap with a noise like thunder. And you who sit, amid the debris of the great wars, you who sit, as it were, upon a battle-field, you know that war was less terrible than this evil peace; you know that the idle lads who carried those swords under Francis or Elizabeth, the rude Squire or Baron who swung that mace about in Picardy or Northumberland battles, may have been terribly noisy, but were not like us, terribly quiet."

Of course, the delicious humor of the occasion is based on the premise that whereas Wayne possesses an innocent, childlike sense of wonder precisely because he is a fanatic, "like most children, he may have a sense of fun, but lacks that very adult quality of a sense of humor" (Conlon, 31). Ironically, the very young and idealistic Wayne is too serious to be an adult, in the Chestertonian sense.

Ah, but I digress. It has been terribly quiet in this blog, and I apologize for that. However, much like Adam Wayne, I too am some sort of fanatic, if blessed with the more adult faculty of humor. I'm just finishing some things, and then...well, let's just say that things won't be too terribly quiet around here.

Picture of G.K. Chesterton comes courtesy of G.K. Chesterton in Lithuanian.