A gentle moment
I was standing in the confession line behind her. A young man came up behind me. I realized, as I'd come in and went straight into line (I'm now 62, and well aware of my sins) I'd cut him off, as he came up from praying in the back of the church.
I immediately said "I cut you off, you can go in front of me", but he smiled and said "It doesn't matter".
She was nicely dressed, wearing a full length skirt and a nice one.
He reached around me and handed her something, which I thought was a handkerchief (she did in fact have a cold). It wasn't, it was her mantilla She put it on.
I thought they were likely brother and sister. He was very nicely dressed and they were both young, in their early 20s.
When I left, they were in different quarters of the church praying. I recognized her now that I could see her face. She's one of the "Mantilla Girls", but one I see rarely. I didn't recognize him. They were in fact, not together. He just noticed she'd dropped her mantilla.
The old rural Catholics
I was wearing, on the day of confession, Carhartt trousers and my very old Carhartt jacket. I hadn't shaved.
It was Saturday.
I don't like shaving. I started shaving when I was 13, and by that, I mean at some point when I was 13 I was shaving every day. Next year I will have been shaving for 50 years.
When I was 13, I learned to save with a "safety razor". I, in fact, owned a safety razor at age 13. I first shaved with disposable head razors in basic training. It was only a few years later, but there's a lifetime between 13 and 18.
I've recently received, in one fashion or another, a couple of reminders to Catholics in general that they ought to dress appropriately at Mass. It is, I'd note, sort of a Catholic thing in a way, in some areas, kind of not to. Not that we're intentionally dressing down, but for a lot of us going to Mass is so common that we in fact dress down, as its Sunday. In some regions, we don't dress up and indeed, as we're used to going to Mass with college students, blue collar workers, sheepherders, ranchers, lawyers, doctors, businessmen, well, we don't.
The local Priest suggested we ought to dress nicely. He's from a farm and had a conversation with me regarding sheep on the way into Mass recently. Fr. Joseph Krupp, who himself often looks a little like a guy who might ride a Harley, and I think at one time did, suggested the same.
They're right of course.
Well, it was Sunday today. I went to Mass wearing Carhartt trousers and my very old Carhartt coat.
The coat is warm.
A bit much
I sometimes see comments about yoga pants.
I don't pay much attention to such comments.
I ran into the very nice, and quite Catholic, son of a person I know very well the other day. He's a nice young man. He was with his girlfriend, who is probably a nice young woman. She is the daughter of an Assemblies of God minister.
She was wearing yoga pants.
They were so tight that, frankly, they left nothing to the imagination. Absent wearing bikini bottoms, there would have been nothing less appropriate to wear in mixed company than I could imagine.
And its January.
Makes me appreciate the Mantilla Girls all the more.
The old age refuses to yieldeth
At Mass, to my massive discredit, I ran into somebody, but only remotely, who generally irritates me.
That's probably sinful on my part.
I've known said person my entire professional life. I knew his sister when we were in high school by which time I'll note he was already a lawyer. She was a great person and I still lament her tragic death as a passenger in an automobile when it wrecked. I knew, but less well, one of her sisters who died in the same wreck.
Horrible.
Anyhow, the person in question must have graduated high school nearly a decade in advance of me, which means that he must be over 70 years old now. He's still actively practicing law.
I've concluded that this is toxic, if you are doing it full time, to your personality.
I also don't like that he holds his hands in the air when certain prayers are said, and he's huge so its hard to ignore. That's the orans position, and in actuality there's good reason to do that. That's what the early Christian faithful, who were all Catholics, did when the Lord's Prayer was said.
Well, I don't like it.
And that means I need to work on this.
I'd note that his fellow doesn't particularly acknowledge me at Mass, but then I don't go out of the way to acknowledge him either. If we run into each other in Court, well. . . we're old pals.
The Mantilla girl and the young man, and the cowboy couple I noted several weeks ago, are better than either of us.
The stubborn German
Germans, it appear, have a reputation for being stubborn.
I have what people perceive as being a very German last name.
I have a very Irish first name.
I've never thought this odd, but then, who thinks their own names odd. For one reason or another, I've always considered myself an Irish American.
My father didn't like anyone considering himself this or that. No Hyphenated Americans. He thought we were all Americans. He'd grown up, I'd note, while World War Two was on, when nobody considered themselves German Americans.
Some people are really proud of that now.
Well, by decent today, I'd be 1/4 German. But genetically, due to the weird way that works, I'm more Irish than a lot of people who live in Ireland. And for that matter, I'd further note, my father's mother was of 100% Irish extraction, and in Irish American household even when my father was young, the mother's ruled the abhaile.
Father's sacrificed for their families, particularly in Catholic families.
The last name, fwiw, is Westphalian. A person with it is just as likely to be Dutch, as German. I was once asked by an Albertan if my ancestors were Dutch, for that reason. Westphalia became a Prussian possession in 1807, much to the discontent of Catholic Westphalians, who weren't keen in being ruled by a Lutheran emperor. After the revolutions of 1848 a lot of Westphalians departed for the United States, sick of being rules by an undemocratic Prussian.
My Westphalian ancestors left about that time. I don't know why, they didn't write it down.
Anyhow, genetically, I'm Irish.
And in my ancestor there were those Irish who, given the choice between converting to Protestantism and keeping their occupation, ro being exiled, chose exile.
Stubborn?
I don't think I am, but I guess people perceive me that way. I've been told that more than once.
German?
Not really.
