Yes, and we com-
pared notes We pro-
bably even talked about you. We even like most of you. ;-D
Digi, along with daughter Drusilla, son Octavian, and Octavian's bestest friend Marcellus came down for Mass at 5:15 in Old Town and got to see me in action and hear and meet the Sainted Fr. S. I made the mistake of asking Fr. S. to take the picture. 30+ years I know the guy, and now I find out he can't take pictures!
The S.F.S. gave a pretty good sermon too. Only one of the kids fell asleep. [I wish the toddler 7 rows behind them had!] Fr. didn't give the ladies grief by going on and on about how women should submit to their husbands, thereby sparing a lot nasty wisecracks and allowing the men to sleep in their beds with their wives, rather than on the couch with the dog thinking "if I had just kept my big fat mouth shut I could be having some nookie right now."
Instead, Fr. focused on how the Holy Family was essentially created by the Holy Spirit. "The power of the Holy Spirit overcame Mary" so that Jesus could take on human flesh. Joseph was told by an angel to fear not taking Mary as his wife. Angels don't act on their own, as Father said, but under the guidance of the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit also guided Joseph with the right decisions for the safety of the family, etc.
Father also mentioned the story of the finding in the temple, that they did have their worries too - and mentioned the verse how "Mary treasured these things in her heart." [I've often wondered what JOSEPH thought about that -- if it was ME that did that it would have been "Don't EVER do anything like that again!"] Father said often times it is common for families to have their arguments and squabbles, and you wonder if there was ever the perfect family. He pointed out that there was: The Holy Family, living in perfect love guided by the Holy Spirit.
Afterwards, they came back and met Fr. S. and he blessed them. They also got to see the chasuble that would be used if you were going to sacrifice a pig - Digi exclaimed that even the Samoans in her parish might beg off. We went out for dinner in Old Town. We were very sympatico and are REALLY in a conundrum as to what to do with the 4,000 pounds of frozen Moose that Digi has in her fridge for the wedding feast that hasn't come off yet. Peterkins better get his act together, or we're going to hold a big barbeque, and only God knows what effigies will burn in the bonfire afterwards!
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2 comments:
I can testify to the hideous nature of the Chausible o' Doom. Upon gazing at it firsthand (no, I would not even let the children approach it), my first thought was that except for a smidgne of green, it lacks any known liturgical color. What I believe is meant to pass for gold is not - it is yellow, as any kindergartner with even a 16-piece Crayola box can confirm. The Samoans at St. Joseph may incorporate aspects of their culture into the Mass - such as blowing the conch just prior to the Alleluia being sung before the Gospel, or bringing a lei up with the bread and wine - but even they would look at that and say, "Dat one ugly lavalava, bruh."
Karen, I consulted with the "Joy of Cooking" but while they address beaver, bear and woodchuck, moose is sadly missing from their index. I have posted a query to Anthony Bourdain, who responded that cooking it in the same manner as goat in the Mexican state of Pueblo seems appropriate - which means the reception site for the nuptials will require enough land to dig what I estimate will be a 30' x 15' x 8' deep pit. And a helluva lot of rocks. I am not sure how we will marinate the meat (a must, as moose can a tad tough) but if you happen to know anyone who is relining their pool, while it is drained and before the work is done, perhaps we can borrow that.
Where is Peterkins? I thought Fr. Erik was running guard on him and, if so, I am afraid he has failed to keep the perimeter secure. No doubt when Dr. Peter saw that the Sure Shot Sacerdote had taken a breather in Italy in early December, he seized the moment and took flight.
Oh, I am sure there are those who would opine, "Harumph! A woman who would not read the LONG version of Paul is hardly the type to be a good wife!" Balderash! I have always preferred the shorter version and today the Digihusband and I celebrate 12 years of wedded bliss, which for the most part has been spent by him sober, I believe. Ask him whether the excision of submission from the readings has had an effect on his married life and Digihusband will undoubtedly confirm that I remain his raison d'etre, if he knows what's good for him.
Actually, your children did gaze, but you were definitely in front of them and they were peering from behind you, lest it took shape and attacked, bogart like. Hey, I like the lei.
Does Father Moneypenny get to wear it after Mass or does time share Dante get to eat it? OR better yet, does the Blessed Mother get to wear it?
I have to say there's a little church in Lahaina (if it's still there after the last earthquake, monsoon, whatever .. that had FIVE (at least at one time they did) excellent choirs, some of them native Hawaiian. I normally get bored at "ethnic" Spanish Masses, in particular (nothing personal, just DO) but the Hawaiian stuff was COOL ... AND it wasn't "fake ethnic" but the real deal ethnic.
I think I can help with the MOOSE. For ages we used to have Buffalo BBQs for a church fund raiser. I expect that if we marinated the hell out of it overnight like we did with the buffalo, and did a deep pit BBQ, it would work out great.
Back in the day...we'd dig a pit, about 10 X 20, have good size rocks all on the bottom, then we'd build a hell of a fire in there and let it burn out. THEN after the guys (we let the men do this job, simple creatures that they are they love fire and slicing their hands off preparing the meat, it's some sort of caveman throwback, God bless them, let THEM get their eyelashes burned off...) they'd have sliced the big roasts of the buffalo in *almost* halves, put in bay leaves, garlic, salt, pepper, a ton of wine and God knew what else in the marinade, then they'd put the halves back together, wrap each roast with a soaking wet bed sheet, then THOSE were wrapped in burlap, and secured with bailing wire, then whoever was the dumbest [in the Pennsylvania Dutch language, this guy would have been called "a heevahova" [sp] literally the dumb guy that got to hold the receptacle for bull semen, a guy that dumb would have inherited the "poor schmoe in the pit job" and they lined the bottom of the pit with the roasts. Then a layer of dirt a few inches thick would go on over that, and it would get done over night. Then about 10:30 the next day we'd start digging it up. One night (long before we had that parking lot,) I was one of the "all night guard duty" people. That was the only year I lived "in bounds" -- I was just out of college and I had a little apartment about two good stone throws from the church. We had a blast staying up all night drinking a few beers and playing poker and listening to the radio.
So your "goat roast" memories are mighty close to our old Buffalo BBQs.
Poor Peterkins. Confirmed old bachelor. Afraid I'd tell him to get lost if he asked me to go down to the store and get him some Theraflu. No, dear, that's not how it works... I'll bear your children, keep mum to the IRS/Inland Revenue even hold your head in a sick bucket if you were vomiting and in pain - I'd iron your shirts (if I was in a good mood) - I'd even probably make you breakfast.... but what I would NOT do, no way, no how, is get you a beer from the fridge if I'm in the back forty pruning the roses when you're watching cricket on satellite TV and the fridge is four feet from you. Then my answer will be: "God gave you two hands, get up and get it yourself, ya big jerk!" And as for Nigerian "bankers" who would give us a "Guaranteed %2000 return on investment if we just deposited a measly 200 grand in their secret Swiss bank account, then I'm afraid I will be "disobedient" and very naughty and say: "dear, you must be ****ing DREAMING."
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