Everyone's a Little Queer

...but me and thee, and thee's a little strange.

That was told to me by a college friend. It was a saying his grandmother would use, whenever people were gossiping. Gossip. That ugly word. I don't know anyone that doesn't engage in gossip at least a little. Some do nothing but gossip. Although it may be based on truth, gossip usually doesn't get the whole truth. The damage done by gossip is irreparable.

A story that illustrates gossip is the preacher that was supposedly having an affair with the church secretary. All of the congregation were involved in spreading these rumors about the leader of the flock. There was talk of firing the preacher, or firing the secretary, or both. Well, lo and behold, none of it was true. No affair was taking place. In the spirit of Christian love, the congregation went to the preacher to ask for forgiveness. The preacher instructed the congregation to take a feather pillow to the top of the local mountain, rip it open, scatter the feathers, and pick up every feather. It cannot be done. The rumor will always float around on the next breeze.

I bring this up due to a couple with whom Sybil and I go to church. Let's call the wife Jane and the husband Dick (no pun intended). There is a rumor floating around that Dick is emotionally (for now) involved with a married woman. There are phone calls. She calls him numerous times throughout the day. Her husband is spreading gossip about his wife and Dick. Knowing Dick and Jane, all of this seems to be very hard to believe. Although Jane can be abrasive and tends to talk down to Dick, they have been married about 15 years and have three children. The gossip and innuendo swirling around Dick and Jane have been the talk of everyone. The problem is NO ONE knows what is happening, except the wife and Dick and maybe Jane. All of this talk is just that: talk. Destructive talk. Now, whenever we look at Dick and Jane, we wonder.

This got Sybil to thinking and imagining. She has a wonderfully active imagination and likes to noodle things about. She asked me, if I worry about her doing the same thing the wife and Dick have done. I answer that, although the thought has gone through my mind, I don't actively worry about it. I have had moments of concern but not actual worry. Wrong answer. I should be worried. If I'm not worried, then I don't care. Oops, my bad. Now, the conversation has taken a turn into the surreal. I keep expecting Rod Stirling to start his monologue. What's that sign post up ahead?

The problem was my focusing only on the word "worry." To me that means that one is in a state of angst. "Worry" goes beyond occasional concern or "what if." Worry, to me, becomes every waking moment, loss of sleep, weight pressing down kind of thing. Am I wrong? Am I being too literal, as Sybil says?

I know I did not do a good job of easing Sybil's insecurity. I was unable to convince her that, just because I don't worry, doesn't mean I don't care. Can another person allay one's insecurities? I didn't tell Sybil that I don't care. I did say that I had moments of concern, but it didn't fill my waking hours. Does that mean I take her for granted?

Damn feathers.