Posted on January 11, 2014 under Storytelling with no comments yet

As far as males go, I am a reasonably domesticated animal.  I do my share of the grocery shopping and cooking.  I know what a vacuum is used for and I take out the garbage and recycling dutifully every Monday morning.  I even do laundry and iron my own shirts.

Recently my wife ventured off to Montreal to visit one of our granddaughters.  I was “home alone.”  In the lead up to Christmas, there was quite a bit of commotion around the house so, during this period of calm, I decided to tackle the beds … all seven of them.  They are an assortment of singles, doubles and queens.  Prior to marriage, the only thing I knew about singles and doubles was that they were a unit of measurement for alcohol.

When it comes to doing the beds, I have developed a fool proof system.  I do one bed at a time plus the pillow cases and then throw in a few other towels, underwear and socks to balance the load.  I learned from experience (bad experience) that trying to do several beds at once is not advisable.  Trying to match up sheets and pillow cases to the correct bed is simply a non-starter.

Everything was going along smoothly until I made a fatal error.  I texted my wife.

“I am changing the beds upstairs.”  Her reply:  “There is a set of fuzzy sheets for the double beds.  One of the double beds is already changed so you only have to do one”.   Simple enough.  Hard on the heels of the first message and before I could hit the reply button, came the following:  “There are two sets of white fuzzy sheets for the little beds.”

“I stripped the bed in the baby’s room and one bed where DJ was sleeping.  One of those has blue fuzzy sheets.”

“In the room with two little beds is another set of blue fuzzy sheets”… (confusion is now setting in). “Those fit the bed where DJ was sleeping.  Put them on it.”

“Gotcha.  And the other blue fuzzy set in the wash go back on the bed in the baby’s room, right?”

“You will have to wash the blue sheets from the baby’s room.  They fit our bed.  Then wash the yellow sheets from our bed and put them on the bed in the baby’s room.  Or if our sheets are Ok just wash and replace the blue fuzzy sheets on the bed in the baby’s room.”

Have you ever seen or heard the comedy skit “Who’s on First” by Abbott and Costello?  Go and listen to it immediately and then compare it to the passage you’ve just read.

I now have a much better understanding of the phrase “three sheets to the wind”.  It probably started after a man had his first lesson in changing beds and he threw the whole lot out the window.

Time to put this story to bed.

Posted on January 9, 2014 under Thursday Tidbits with no comments yet

Yeah. I know. I’ve posted this picture before and by the end of the year you’ll see it a few more times. Every day so far this year, I have found at least one thing to be grateful about.  And every day, I have made note of this and deposited a small piece of paper with the date and the reason to be grateful. For example, here is what I wrote yesterday: ” During this bitterly cold, snowy winter with massive power outages across the country, I am grateful to have a warm home.” Hopefully I’m not sounding too preachy but if more people stayed in tune with gratefulness, I think they would be much happier.

As you know, one of my goals at the beginning of this year was to be able to find a way to acquire the resources to provide a hot meal for those who need it , every week of the year. I am doing my homework and have been in touch with the good folks at St. James United Church who already provide this service. No point in re-inventing the wheel. I will be meeting with some of them soon but the goal is to do a second day of the week at the church. What they need more than anything is teams of volunteers to take responsibility for the meal ( the cooking and serving – not the financial part ). Currently they have six “teams” who do the Tuesday meal on a rotational basis so someone volunteering needs to only commit every sixth week. I may be casting my net out  for help. I know most of you work, but there are lots who are retired too. Without making a formal commitment, how many of you are interested?  Show of hands? Just as I thought. We’ll get this done.

BIG response to the story about mass. ( “Mass Appeal” ) Sorry to you youngsters who couldn’t possibly understand some of the nuances of this story. Some time when you’re at loose ends, go and Google Second Vatican Council. It was a very big deal back in the early ’60’s. A lot of old timers to this day lament the day that the Catholic Church abandoned Latin for English.

I have lots of stories on the go. Will keep you posted.

If you missed the Len and Phil show last fall and if you’re not working ( rhymes with twerking! ) on Feb. 5th. at 2:00 p.m., drop down to People’s Place library. We’re going to do an hour long mini show. That does not mean we will be wearing mini skirts. While it’s called the “Senior’s Café” I am quite certain that all are welcome.

Have a great weekend.

Posted on January 8, 2014 under Storytelling with no comments yet

The ranks are thinning out with no farm team in sight.  A combination of demographics and scandals has reduced the number of attendees at Catholic Churches throughout North America.  I see it every week from my perch in the choir loft.  Row upon row of empty pews, with scarcely a hint of any young people.  It wasn’t all that long ago that things were very different.

In nomine Patris, et Filii’ et Spiritus Sancti.   Amen

Back in the ‘60’s, Saturday night was notable for two reasons; everyone watched the hockey game and just about everyone shined their shoes in preparation for church.  There was only one hockey channel and six teams, and hockey was the next closest thing to religion.  And speaking of religion, in our family of ten it was imperative to have shiny shoes for Sunday Mass.

We each took turns applying shoe polish to our shoes and letting them sit for a few hours before the final buffing and shining.  It was not uncommon to see all 10 pairs sitting side by side on an old piece of newspaper.  I can still smell the shoe polish vividly.

Introibo ad altare Dei.  Ad Deum qui laetificat, juventutem meum.

We marched into the church like a well-oiled army and took our seats in our pew.  Don’t be mistaken.  We didn’t actually own the pew, but we might as well have.  We occupied an entire row of seats and it was a given that the middle row in aisle 24, was “reserved” for the P.D. clan.  This delicate balance could be upset if an unsuspecting tourist happened to be sitting there when we arrived.  No problem.  We just filed in as usual with the tourist being progressively nudged until he found himself standing in the main aisle of the church.

Kyrie eleison.  Christe eleison.

As young children, we weren’t completely sure why we were attending Mass.  So you can imagine our consternation when the priest started speaking in a language we didn’t understand.  Several of us became altar servers which helped with our mastery of Latin.  And then, in 1964, on the heels of the Second Vatican Council, English became the official language for the Mass in our part of the world.

Father Stanley and Fr, Regis arrived on the scene as curates in our parish.  They could deliver a dynamic sermon and then join us on the football field to deliver body blows.  They were passionate about religion and sports; evidence of their Cape Breton roots.

Dominus vobiscum.  Et cum spiritu tuo.

Midnight Mass was a big deal and you had to get to the church early to get a good seat.  And when the Mass was over, we always went back home and wolfed down rabbit pie before heading to bed.  No wonder none of the family sleep well to this day when you consider some of our strange eating habits from days gone by.

Some of us still go to church even if it does not have the mass appeal it once had.

Ite missa est.  Deo gratias.

Amen.