The Bagginses (Was: The Fourteenth Sunday After Pentecost, 2017)
Bilbo Baggins is back in town. In fact, the Bagginses are the only three-generation family - from its titular head to his youngest grandson - in regular attendance these days, temporarily eclipsing the Campbells, whose grandchildren haven't been spotted at St. Michael's in years. When all the Bagginses are at table there is barely room for any other person to sit next to them during Coffee Hour. Paradise manages to squeeze in nearly every Sunday afternoon and his presence, plus one or two other African American parishioners give it the appearance of a "black table", albeit one whose median age is probably north of 65 years. That median shot even further northward yesterday as little Firefly and his peripatetic mother - Deedee - were preoccupied by the last barbecue of the year.
That left plenty of room for me to sit with Bilbo and Paradise after spending an hour washing silverware in the Lower Sacristy. Between the three of us, plus Bilbo's sister, Joon, the table subtly assumes the air of an "Elders Table" in addition to its aforementioned Black Table aspects. You can see the caution in the eyes of various parishioners as they hover by, unsure of whether they are allowed to sit there or not. One poor woman was actually asked whether she would like to join us and after doing a quick calculus of the politically correct risks and rewards, finally demurred. It occurred to me what the missing ingredient was when I realized that Bibo's son-in-law was not in church yesterday. He is DeeDee's second husband and, as far as I can make out - white and identifies as so.
Meanwhile, Bilbo is a story all by himself. His wife left this Earth several years ago and he has gradually adjusted to life as a single-grandparent. He is also one of a handful of native New Yorkers that I am aware of who would rather drive a car in the city than take a subway anywhere. Watching him limp along the Parish House hallways leaning heavily on his walker, you would never imagine that he turns into a fairly proficient livery driver once behind the wheel of his own car. When her husband is globetrotting as part of his work - which is often - Deedee is as dependent on Bilbo to ferry herself and Firefly to their different appointments as when she was a teenager living at home.
I think he enjoys having that last vestige of paternal leverage over his eldest daughter. He kept looking at his watch even as Paradise droned on about an aunt none of us had ever met. He came to life only when Paradise changed the subject and started lecturing me about my weight loss, a weird by-product of one too many moonshots (must look good standing next to Crosby) and a frantic attempt to avoid Type Two diabetes. When Bilbo overheard this, he immediately came to my defense. "What's wrong with losing a little weight? It looks good on him."
The RC/St.Mike's meter inched up about a quarter to 12.
That left plenty of room for me to sit with Bilbo and Paradise after spending an hour washing silverware in the Lower Sacristy. Between the three of us, plus Bilbo's sister, Joon, the table subtly assumes the air of an "Elders Table" in addition to its aforementioned Black Table aspects. You can see the caution in the eyes of various parishioners as they hover by, unsure of whether they are allowed to sit there or not. One poor woman was actually asked whether she would like to join us and after doing a quick calculus of the politically correct risks and rewards, finally demurred. It occurred to me what the missing ingredient was when I realized that Bibo's son-in-law was not in church yesterday. He is DeeDee's second husband and, as far as I can make out - white and identifies as so.
Meanwhile, Bilbo is a story all by himself. His wife left this Earth several years ago and he has gradually adjusted to life as a single-grandparent. He is also one of a handful of native New Yorkers that I am aware of who would rather drive a car in the city than take a subway anywhere. Watching him limp along the Parish House hallways leaning heavily on his walker, you would never imagine that he turns into a fairly proficient livery driver once behind the wheel of his own car. When her husband is globetrotting as part of his work - which is often - Deedee is as dependent on Bilbo to ferry herself and Firefly to their different appointments as when she was a teenager living at home.
I think he enjoys having that last vestige of paternal leverage over his eldest daughter. He kept looking at his watch even as Paradise droned on about an aunt none of us had ever met. He came to life only when Paradise changed the subject and started lecturing me about my weight loss, a weird by-product of one too many moonshots (must look good standing next to Crosby) and a frantic attempt to avoid Type Two diabetes. When Bilbo overheard this, he immediately came to my defense. "What's wrong with losing a little weight? It looks good on him."
The RC/St.Mike's meter inched up about a quarter to 12.