I had to do it. After all, it was Easter.

Ruth came to get me yesterday morning at 10:00 AM. We went to Easter Sunday services at Trinity Lutheran Church on South Duke Street in Lancaster. Rebecca, my deceased wife and I had settled on the Lutheran Church after leaving the Amish order back in 1939, so our children, Ruth, Joseph, and Abraham were all raised in the Lutheran church.

Architecturally, Trinity is a magnificent colonial building, with a beautiful pipe organ, so I did enjoy the service. The current structure was built in 1761 after a fire destroyed the original building. Upon completion of the church steeple in 1794, it was the tallest man made structure West of Philadelphia, and survived as such well into the Twentieth Century.

Samuel Sr., Ruth’s husband, and their oldest son, Samuel Jr., his wife Nichole and their two children, Amy and Terrance, met us at the church. It was cloudy, cold, and damp, but the magnificent stained glass windows glowed in the subdued light. I always feel comforted at church, more so when I am alone, than when immersed in a crowd. After the services, we all went back to Orchard Hill Farm for our traditional family Easter Sunday ham dinner. I especially enjoyed my time with the grandchildren, though as usual, Ruth was tedious. At one point, as we drove to church, she launched into one of her critical diatribes about my artwork.

“Daddy, a friend showed me your on line journal.”

“Blog.”

“Whatever. It has gay pornography!”

“It doesn’t.”

“There are pictures of naked men.”

“Their parts are covered, and they aren’t just pictures, they are works of art, and they are necessary to the entire sense and tenor of the blog.”

“Daddy, it’s just not healthy, an old man making pornographic images.”

“They aren’t pornography.”

“You can’t deny they’re sexual.”

“Of course not.”

“Then, they’re pornographic.”

“According to that definition, you and Samuel making love are pornographic.”

“Daddy!”

“We’re talking apples and oranges, Ruth.”

“What does fruit have to do with it?”

“Why, everything, daughter!”

And, so it went. Every time we were alone, she ran in obsessive circles about my blogging. She thinks Stephen Gulliver is a more grandiose delusion than was Varnastrama. I fairly screamed at her.

“Neither are delusions. They are both real! And, Stephen’s world is where this one is headed unless everyone in it wakes up immediately from this nasty nightmare that includes an evangelical God who doesn’t tolerate various sexual orientations, supports a Twenty-first century crusade against Arab nations and the war of empire created by this president, the oil oligarchy, and the denial of global warming!”

“God tolerates homosexuals - it’s just the kind of, well, u-m-m, you know, sex you have that he doesn’t like.”

“Daughter, I haven’t had sex in ages, but when I did have male sex, it was homosexual sex done by a homosexual with another homosexual.

“Daddy! I must insist that you not talk like that.”

There is no arguing with Ruth. I don’t know why I do it. She will never accept or understand the journey I have made, much less that there is more to sexuality than the heterosexual versus homosexual dichotomy. I must be something of a masochist to try.

Tsunami Victims

It’s been over three months since the disaster, and the number of missing persons seems to have stabilized at about 200,000, with death tolls standing at 180,000. How much less would the disaster be if sea levels had not risen 6” during the past 50 years, and how much worse will future disasters be as the sea rises another 12 inches to 2 feet because of global warming. Give to the following in order to help reunite orphans with distant relatives, and to insure that your money is used by people with true humanitarian concerns rather than proselytizing religious zeal.

American Friends Service Committee, and UNICEF


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