Fooling God

Saturday morning on the veranda

THIS SATURDAY is somewhat different than most, so I thought I’d gossip with you about it.

Normally, Saturdays are identical. My child bride is in her private kitchen out by the property wall, preparing her pastries for the afternoon sale on the big plaza downtown.

But not today.  She’s going to church this morning.

But first, here’s what I’m doing, and it’s not much different than what I do every Saturday morning. I make rounds under the cursed peach tree scooping up fallen peaches to toss out.

Then I sweep the veranda. I hear the shower running in the bathroom, and I hear a lively Mexican tune blaring from the backstreet neighbors. I also hear the electric pump that’s sending water from the underground cistern to the tank atop the roof. And I hear birds. Lots of stuff to listen to.

Soon I’ll be hearing the lawnmower and weedeater because Abel the Deadpan Yardman arrives later to trim the grass.

The sky is blue. The air is crisp. The lawn is wet because it rained quite a spell last night, making sweet sounds.

Now here’s why she’s going to church. It’s to fool God.

Relatives often ask us to be godparents to the endless array of babies they birth because we look like the best deal going in the family. Problem is that our marriage was only a civil one, not a religious one. A judge connected us, and that’s not good enough to be godparents. I suppose we’re seen as living in sin.

There has been a recent spate of new babies among the bunny-breeding kin, so we received at least two new invites to godparenting. I pass. But my child bride really wants to. There’s nothing she loves more than babies.

This morning, she’s pretending to be single to get the proper paperwork, so she can be a godmother without me tagging along. The proper paperwork requires a three-hour instruction from a priest. She’s doing that in a church downtown.

I hope she remembers to remove her wedding ring.

This amuses me while I sweep the veranda and wait for Abel to cut the grass that I’ve already liberated of fallen, rotting peaches.

It’s a lovely morning.

13 thoughts on “Fooling God

  1. Ahh, nothing like the Catholic Church to whip discipline into one whether it be a student being attacked with a ruler by the nun on the knuckles or a priest trying to save your soul with Godparenting manifestos in between the passing of the collection plate.


  2. Hasn’t the priest in your town been around long enough to know who her husband is? I understand family members who see a “quick hit.” My husband was not interested in all those deadbeats, and when they started that he and one good sister dropped them all. It did become a lot more peaceful. Have any of the “God-daughters” become 15? Boy, that will cost you. Ha, ha!


    1. Beverly: “The priest”? You underestimate the size of our mountaintop town. The population is over 80,000. Being Mexico, there are churches on almost every block, i.e. plenty of priests.

      And I don’t think our being favorite choices for godparenting is quite so avaricious. I have suggested to my wife that our popularity is based on that. She, of course, says no. So who knows? I tend to be suspicious. As for any of our god-daughters turning 15, we don’t have any. I’ve managed to dodge this position so far. And even if that day comes, I ain’t paying for no parties. Let their parents foot the bill. That’s what I say.


  3. Felipe,

    No organized religion is perfect. All were organized by imperfect people. I liked your child bride’s response. She has recognized the imperfection in her chosen religion and adapted to it. Even more importantly she has recognized nothing is hidden from God.

    Now, on a lighter note, good luck avoiding those Quinceanera expenses!


    Liked by 1 person

    1. Troy: My wife’s religion is a little ambiguous. Her father was an atheist, and never took the kids to any church. I guess her evil stepmother was a Catholic, as are most Mexicans, but immediately on the death of Father Dearest, the stepmother became a Jehovah’s Witness, and remains one to this day, being annoying.

      As for paying for any 15th birthday, hell will freeze over.


      1. So the parents of whatever kid die, and then you’ll let La Guapa Señora raise the kid by herself? You really think you’ll be able to let her do it, but escape it yourself?

        Dream on.


        Kim G
        Redding, CA
        Where we’d be happy to rear our nephews if absolutely necessary.


        1. Kim: In that unlikely scenario, other solutions would have to be found. In the meantime,one goes through the cultural motions.

          La Guapa Señora? I have not used that term in eight or ten years. What a memory you possess.


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