Sunday Sermons

Being the good Catholic boy that he is, my husband wanted to take the kids to Station’s of the Cross yesterday at our church. I thought it would be nice since they've never participated before. I admire David for his faith. Even through all the craziness life has hurled at us, his religious beliefs have remained steadfast. I can’t always say the same for myself, as I have my own struggles with my faith. It's OK mom, I’m still Catholic!

But before Stations of the Cross, our church had a regular mass and we entered as it was ending. I’m thinking to myself, this is great! Hardly anyone was there! If only Friday mass could count for going on Sunday’s. Maybe Father D. could even give me some sort of special dispensation and I could keep Holy the Sabbath on Fridays.

It was great because I could actually see the priest, there was no irritating parishioners in front of me swaying back and forth, no irksome teenager nervously fidgeting about (except for my own), and no organist piercing my ears with its nauseating sounds. Some people look at that and say it’s no big deal. But unfortunately I’m wired a whole different way. I am in many ways the ultimate people watcher. I notice things that others take for granted. All that noise and moving around is like information overload to me, and that’s when I get all goofy. So that pretty much sums up my experience of 8 o’clock Sunday mass.We go to the 8 o’clock early mass because the boys usually have to serve, and my youngest has Sunday school right after.

The homilies are rather boring as well. The diocese transferred a new priest to our parish because the church continues to grow. Father M. we shall call him, is probably the most comatose person of the holy order that I’ve ever seen. I really don’t think the Holy Spirit is awake at that particular hour for him. Which, I can totally understand. He may not be a morning person. Plus the boys say he smells like breakfast-you know bacon and eggs. So the guy probably had a big breakfast before mass, which could contribute to the sluggishness. The guy is literally being held up by the podium, I kid you not! And his homilies sound like blah, blah, blah, completely monotone, with a hint of boredom, and a touch of- I need to pull the covers back over my head -voice. It’s not even worth putting my hearing aids on, cause it would still sound like blah, blah, blah.

Now Deacon B. gives the best sermons. He’s married with kids. He faces the same struggles that married couples with children have and it’s no wonder that he is one of the main counselors at our church. He empathizes with his parishioners and it reflects that when he speaks. Father D. is good as well. He’s a 6’7, no worries kind of guy, who has this dry sense of humor that I love. He’s like a tall Ben Stein but better looking.

So that’s my post for now. I am also humbled to see that people are actually reading this blog. Either that or it’s my mother reading it over and over and over again. LOL. Off to bed, Sunday starts early.

I'm so BUSTED!

I was feeling really good the other day. Just out of the blue I thought it would be nice if Dave and I went out to go see The Green Hornet at the cheap theatre. Connor wanted to go along with us, but Bella’s too young and Chris didn't really want to see it, so they stayed with Dave’s dad who came to visit us over the weekend. Good movie, by the way, I hate listening to critics. It was a pretty cool movie filled with fighting, comedy, and violence. You know, something relaxing to take your mind off things.

So we go home and it’s not too late, about 9:30 and of course it’s dark. I decide to take us home via highway instead of the back roads, like I originally opted. Right here is where I’m wishing for the Butterfly Effect. You know the movie, the one where Aston Kutcher finds a way to alter his life.

The butterfly effect is a metaphor that encapsulates the concept of sensitive dependence on initial conditions in chaos theory; namely, a small change at one place in a complex system can have large effects elsewhere. Thank you Wiki, cause I’m not that smart.

As I exit the highway and pass the airport, I come to a stop at the end of Lauby Rd. Well, at least, I thought I stopped at the end of Lauby Rd. But I knew I was busted, call it instinct.I think I’m rather sensitive to trooper radar, having only been stopped once in my life when I was 18, and if you know how I drive, that’s pretty significant.

As I turn right off of Lauby, a pair of headlights on the opposite side of the road were staring me down. As I pass it by, feeling both contempt and trepidation, the trooper’s flashing disco lights came into view.

My son is in the back asking “What did we do?” and flails his arms about as he turns back and forth towards us and the trooper behind us.

Chaos ensues, and David is yelling, “Would you stop doing that Connor, he’ll think your hiding something or doing something wrong!”

The trooper walks up to me and I turned my window down.

“License and registration, Ma’am.”

I hand him my license and Dave proceeds to find the registration. As he does so he asks the trooper what we were being stopped for. He answered by asking me a question.

“Did you know that there was a stop sign at the end of Lauby Rd ma’am?”(echo effect on the ma’am)

So, time freezes for me at that moment. Was this an open-ended question or was it a close-ended question? Was he simply wanting me to say yes or no, or did he want me to further explain myself, thereby giving myself an opportunity to extricate myself from this situation. Should I wink at him? Should I flirt? I don’t think that would have worked since my kid was in the back seat. But for the life of me I could not answer.

Meanwhile, Connor is poking me in the back thinking I didn’t hear the officer, since I am hard of hearing. But I heard, I just didn’t know what the right answer was. Too much pressure!

Finally I answered, “We were on our way home and I did know there was a stop sign there.” I looked up at him with a questioning look and wondering...Did I answer correctly?

The trooper went back to his vehicle and took my license with him. Several minutes go by, and Dave comes up with an idea.

“Quick, put your handicap sign up and act like your having an episode!”

“What?!?! I am NOT acting like I’m having an episode!” I screamed indignantly.

“No, no, it’ll work, just start limping, talk funny, and say that I had to get you home cause you started getting sick!”

Not wanting to be charged with criminal battery, I refrained from slugging the sh*t out of him. I gave him The Look, the one that says- I can’t do anything about it now because our kid is in the back seat and the trooper is right behind us- look.

The officer came back, gave us the ticket and charged me with failure to stop at a stop sign. He tilted his head and had the nerve to say,

“You folks have a nice night.”

Really?..Have a nice night? Isn’t that like rubbing salt on the wound? An oxymoron? Inappropriate? Bad manners, even? Do they teach them to say that at trooper school when they hand you a ticket? It was not as if this was a feel-good situation!

I would have preferred, “Pay your fine, and make sure you stop at the stop sign.”

But, “Have a nice night”just did not do it for me. It turned out to be a really crappy night. He could have at least ended it with a really crappy farewell.