I went early to Midnight Mass, so I could listen to the choir sing before the actual service. It was good for my soul to be back in that beautiful old church. I took a seat in the back, and ended up in the ol crones row. All dressed in black they were, glasses perched on partisan noses, short gray hair.
I like being in back, so I don't have people behind me, and to see what is going on. Old family friends across the way to wave to. A couple: the man sporting a high and tight, his arm around his lady, kissing her hair, and smiling down at her. An older gentleman a few rows up by himself, but comfortable with it. A young couple with small fussy children and a baby that slept thru it all.
The music was beautiful, a great choir. Outstanding really, when you consider the size of the parish.
They have a Filipino priest now, a gentle kind man, but difficult to understand. Maybe I just miss when Father D was here: his wit, wisdom, and sparkling Irish eyes. His crafty council could make something good out of imperfection.
Many prayers were whispered for the Corpsman's safe return home. I wanted to shout them, for fear they otherwise would get lost in the crowd.
While the crones were off for wafers and wine, a wee gentleman stepped up to me and said "Where's your husband?" A bit taken aback, I just shook my head. Whereupon he said, "YOU don't have a husband!" The crones returned then and he retreated. I so wanted to laugh, it must have been my wild white hair, red coat and red heels in a sea of black.
PS: Sitting on my parents bed this morning, with Dad in his chair, and mom dozing, I was telling Dad about Midnight Mass when suddenly two sharp eyes pop open in horror, and Mom yells... "Oh My God, you're a Catholic."
PS: Sitting on my parents bed this morning, with Dad in his chair, and mom dozing, I was telling Dad about Midnight Mass when suddenly two sharp eyes pop open in horror, and Mom yells... "Oh My God, you're a Catholic."
