Benedicta tu

oh, he loves it

I was pretty certain I wouldn't be able to work any activity into my day today, but it turns out I was a little bit wrong. Groom and I got up super early this morning to attend a funeral for a friend's mom, so I assumed I would have no time to do anything but sit in a car, get dressed on the side of the road, kneel in a church, and sit in a car again.

Before I start down my snarky and flippant road, I want to mention the funeral was lovely and the woman who was buried today was unequivocally loved and respected within her community and amongst her family. She was 86 years old and there were more people at today's reception than I have seen at some weddings. It was a touching interment. The priest was engaging, warm, funny, and he really made me rethink my whole "I don't go to church" business. And then I remembered I don't actually believe in all that. I used to consider myself an agnostic, but that feels like such a cop-out to me. I mean, come on. Pick a lane. But then, I do believe there's something, I suppose....

Oi. Enough of that.

It was a Catholic mass and I haven't been to a Catholic mass in...I don't know how long...so as a former altar boy and a former Catholic school girl, we spent a good portion of our car ride refreshing our "genuflect, cross, kneel, sit, stand, kneel, kneel, kneel, shake hands, kneel" rituals. I generally get stumped by the "think no evil, speak no evil, feel no evil" gesture, or for you more formal types, the "Lord, I am not worthy to receive you but only say the word and I shall be healed" communion apologetic.

And, by the way, I wasn't raised to clasp hands or hold my arms up during the Lord's Prayer, but I guess we're doing that now?

*Aside: Haha! Click the Catholic school link I posted above. Look how close my high school was to the water. I honestly did not know I grew up so close to the water!*

In the church, it was coming back to me pretty quickly. I have a lot of muscle memory in regard to the rituals of a Catholic mass. (Groom's muscle memory included stashing a few dollars in his pocket for the collection plate. I was impressed.) As we approached the "peace be with you" portion of the hour, I started to get panicky without remembering exactly why. I've gotten panicky about this since I was a kid. But, when I was a kid, I would simply vomit. These days, apparently, I get hot flashes, because oh my word did I start to burn up.

My dad was really good at "peace," but I don't know whether he particularly enjoyed it. I would watch him shake hands up and down the pew before moving his gaze farther afield to take in the parishioners he couldn't physically reach. He'd smile and whisper a "hi, howareya" or "peace" toward the Mrs. Busybodies of the church who barely held their contempt for him--mostly because they were church ladies and church ladies barely hold their contempt for anyone. I always detected his tense jaw and his clenched teeth, but his eyes were all twinkly and crinkly. Years later, Death Cab for Cutie would come up with a lyric that pretty accurately describes what I witnessed: "...holds a smile/ like someone would hold/ a crying child..."

Today, as the words "I leave you peace, my peace I give you" rained down from the altar, I noticed some people were glancing around to assess with whom they might have to shake hands or, worse, embrace. I recognized the signs of anxiety and started glancing askance (asglancing?) myself.

When the priest who made me think for a moment that I might want to start attending church again said, "May the peace of the lord be with you always," everyone got into their hug/kiss stances. I stiffened.

Then every single person around me, including my own husband, turned away and greeted the people on their opposite sides. I stood there in my little private cone of solitude. Awkward.

At the very end, at the time when my dad would have been hissing his peaces at the church ladies, a little elderly woman two pews ahead of us turned around and flashed me a '60s peace sign with the first two fingers on her right hand.

It was, without a doubt, one of the best moments of my year. (It's rude of me to have that sentiment at a funeral. But, I promised I would be honest in this blog.)

Ay-yai-yai, I meant to talk about my activity today. It isn't much, but you know what makes for a great core workout? Repentant kneeling aka humble kneeling aka competitive kneeling. As a kid, I treated kneeling like a game. It was a point of pride for me that I never had to lean back on my pew to hold my weight during the lengthy post-communion rituals. Today? Holy Hannah. Ouchie...ouchie...is this communion song ever going to end and is he ever going to finish wiping out the liturgical vessels and shut that trapdoor to the vestry?

If you were raised Catholic and/or are a practicing Catholic, I know you got that. Otherwise, sorry; you're missing out on some good stuff. In short, Catholic mass = core workout and sore knees. And, if I'm going to be honest, Catholic mass also equals the worst breath of the week from the little wafer that melts on the roof of your mouth. As a kid, my family cured that bad breath with a dozen Dunkin' Donuts. Mmmmm.....

For local and traceable food today, Groom and I packed some grapes for the ride, but ended up at the Get & Go anyway for breakfast sandwiches, which did not--I repeat, did not--sit well in my belly. (Ugh. I hate that I have to be honest.) Then, except for another handful of grapes, two iced coffees, one communion wafer, and two beers at the reception (it really was a great sendoff for a respected woman), I didn't eat again until 2:00, at which point, I would have punched adorable little Mikey in the jaw to get my hands on his Life cereal.

mmmm scallops....

What I wanted: fried scallops with french fries and tartar sauce. What I got: a chef salad with low-fat dressing, easy on the "chef."

And then I walked over to a vending machine to purchase a bag of Cape Cod Barbecue Potato Chips.

I'm weak.

P.S. I've already informed Groom, if I die before he does, I would like him to rent out a hall, book a local band, serve locally brewed beer and locally roasted coffee, hire a local caterer, and offer free liquor on one condition: people will be allowed to drink only bourbon manhattans and gin martinis. If you drink vodka, you're definitely going to have to bring your own flask. Sorry.