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Sep. 21st, 2009 12:39 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thejunipertreeIf I have learned one, single thing from being the significant other of a Freemason, it is the art of public kissing (and by public kissing, I mean the act of kissing hello and goodbye, something which has fallen from mannerly fashion).
Every time I attended some form of masonly gathering, I find myself not being able to enter or exit a room without a flurry of kisses from older men in suits. And when I say art of kissing, I mean it. There is an intensely subtle craft to it. The kiss must be centered precisely on the proferred cheek; too far towards the ear and it lends an air of creepiness, too close to the bottom of the jaw and it's just awkward, and too close to the mouth, it's just plain inappropriate. One's mouth may not be too dry (painful) or too wet (gross), nor should one's mouth be too open or closed for the same reasons. A kiss of greeting (or departure) is specific and regimented, failing to perform it perfectly just leads to uncomfortable situations.
When the Engineer first entered Freemasonry, I was not even remotely comfortable with so much physical contact, let alone from nigh-on strangers. I fidgeted and stammered when forced into attending events, finding excuses to slip away and generally keeping to myself. I'm not sure when this exactly changed, but I found myself going through the steps of casual social encounters. After so many years of holding myself apart from people, it felt alien at first and there were many nights when I went home and laid awake for hours trying to figure out what was wrong with me.
In part, I believe the change was brought about by our friendship with one of the other officers-in-line (the Engineer was going through the chairs), who is now soon to be a Past Master. He and his wife opened their home to us, greeting us with such warmth and friendliness that it was a bit staggering. I found myself participating in things like fundraiser bake sales and spaghetti dinners (that year was a record-breaker for funds raised, and I cooked/baked for both. Coincedence? heh...) and donating my time to help out in several, painstaking projects. I didn't enter into these endeveours with any type of motive in mind. I just deeply respected the people behind them. I didn't do them for the lodge; I did it for them.
Recently, over the past few months, there has been some drama engulfing the lodge and there has been an enormous amount of trash-talking and outright disrespect to done to the soon-to-be Past Master. It pains me to see it, particularly when other people I admired and respected have involved themselves in it (they say they have valid reasons to do so, but I have yet to be convinced). The Engineer is upset as well, even moreso because of his personal commitment to the lodge. He removed himself from line and the past couple of weeks have been spent trying to figure out what happens next. I reckon we'll find out when we get there, though the wait is annoying.
It's amazing, the political machinations I have witnessed throughout all of this. It brings to mind the petty squabbling and gladhanding of the doomed Roman Senate. Whenever I have been privy to conversation, I always feel like an anthropologist in the field, studying a wildly different culture than my own. Once, I was asked by one of the Brothers for any opinion I may have had on a conversation that had happened earlier that he knew I witnessed. I told him that since I don't understand the majority of the subject matter, I don't pay attention. He looked at me for a moment, smiled, and said: "Somehow, you being you, I doubt that." I laughed when he said that. We had always enjoyed each other's company and he had always treated me slightly different than the other Significant Others. We once bonded over a mutual love of HP Lovecraft and Otis Redding. He's also one of the ones who I'm currently waiting to be convinced by; since he was always one of my favourite people, this is a particular pain.
Even if all of this ends in broken bridges, stepping out from behind the wall I've built around myself for years and years remains an interesting experience that I hope continues. I've spent far too long wrapped up in my own head and loathe to unentangle myself from my broken brain. Too long, immersed and afraid. I don't want to live my life like that anymore. I don't want to get to the end of my life and think to myself, I could have done so much more. That singular lesson from my mother's death lies particularly bitter and green across my tongue. I loved her deeply, but do not want to follow in her footsteps.
She gave up her life and dreams to be a mother (of some irony, she wanted to be anthropologist), something which many women do and have no problem living with their decisions. But, I get the idea that my mother was always vaguely resentful of being forced to do this (her first marriage, at age 17, was in direct response to a pregnancy and her second marriage, at 28, was prompted by being told to "if you want to keep custody of your two sons, get married yesterday" by her lawyer) and thus, spent the rest of her life always wishing she had done better, but drowning in the notion she was too old to start over. Being so much like my mother as it is, I've always been afraid of falling into the same trap. It's what eventually prompted me to go back to school two years ago.
...
This feels a lot like that "growing up" thing I've heard so much about. I'm not sure of my opinion on the matter quite yet, but I reckon I'm willing to wait and see.
Every time I attended some form of masonly gathering, I find myself not being able to enter or exit a room without a flurry of kisses from older men in suits. And when I say art of kissing, I mean it. There is an intensely subtle craft to it. The kiss must be centered precisely on the proferred cheek; too far towards the ear and it lends an air of creepiness, too close to the bottom of the jaw and it's just awkward, and too close to the mouth, it's just plain inappropriate. One's mouth may not be too dry (painful) or too wet (gross), nor should one's mouth be too open or closed for the same reasons. A kiss of greeting (or departure) is specific and regimented, failing to perform it perfectly just leads to uncomfortable situations.
When the Engineer first entered Freemasonry, I was not even remotely comfortable with so much physical contact, let alone from nigh-on strangers. I fidgeted and stammered when forced into attending events, finding excuses to slip away and generally keeping to myself. I'm not sure when this exactly changed, but I found myself going through the steps of casual social encounters. After so many years of holding myself apart from people, it felt alien at first and there were many nights when I went home and laid awake for hours trying to figure out what was wrong with me.
In part, I believe the change was brought about by our friendship with one of the other officers-in-line (the Engineer was going through the chairs), who is now soon to be a Past Master. He and his wife opened their home to us, greeting us with such warmth and friendliness that it was a bit staggering. I found myself participating in things like fundraiser bake sales and spaghetti dinners (that year was a record-breaker for funds raised, and I cooked/baked for both. Coincedence? heh...) and donating my time to help out in several, painstaking projects. I didn't enter into these endeveours with any type of motive in mind. I just deeply respected the people behind them. I didn't do them for the lodge; I did it for them.
Recently, over the past few months, there has been some drama engulfing the lodge and there has been an enormous amount of trash-talking and outright disrespect to done to the soon-to-be Past Master. It pains me to see it, particularly when other people I admired and respected have involved themselves in it (they say they have valid reasons to do so, but I have yet to be convinced). The Engineer is upset as well, even moreso because of his personal commitment to the lodge. He removed himself from line and the past couple of weeks have been spent trying to figure out what happens next. I reckon we'll find out when we get there, though the wait is annoying.
It's amazing, the political machinations I have witnessed throughout all of this. It brings to mind the petty squabbling and gladhanding of the doomed Roman Senate. Whenever I have been privy to conversation, I always feel like an anthropologist in the field, studying a wildly different culture than my own. Once, I was asked by one of the Brothers for any opinion I may have had on a conversation that had happened earlier that he knew I witnessed. I told him that since I don't understand the majority of the subject matter, I don't pay attention. He looked at me for a moment, smiled, and said: "Somehow, you being you, I doubt that." I laughed when he said that. We had always enjoyed each other's company and he had always treated me slightly different than the other Significant Others. We once bonded over a mutual love of HP Lovecraft and Otis Redding. He's also one of the ones who I'm currently waiting to be convinced by; since he was always one of my favourite people, this is a particular pain.
Even if all of this ends in broken bridges, stepping out from behind the wall I've built around myself for years and years remains an interesting experience that I hope continues. I've spent far too long wrapped up in my own head and loathe to unentangle myself from my broken brain. Too long, immersed and afraid. I don't want to live my life like that anymore. I don't want to get to the end of my life and think to myself, I could have done so much more. That singular lesson from my mother's death lies particularly bitter and green across my tongue. I loved her deeply, but do not want to follow in her footsteps.
She gave up her life and dreams to be a mother (of some irony, she wanted to be anthropologist), something which many women do and have no problem living with their decisions. But, I get the idea that my mother was always vaguely resentful of being forced to do this (her first marriage, at age 17, was in direct response to a pregnancy and her second marriage, at 28, was prompted by being told to "if you want to keep custody of your two sons, get married yesterday" by her lawyer) and thus, spent the rest of her life always wishing she had done better, but drowning in the notion she was too old to start over. Being so much like my mother as it is, I've always been afraid of falling into the same trap. It's what eventually prompted me to go back to school two years ago.
...
This feels a lot like that "growing up" thing I've heard so much about. I'm not sure of my opinion on the matter quite yet, but I reckon I'm willing to wait and see.
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(no subject)
Date: 2009-09-21 06:48 pm (UTC)