But as a result, the acolytes didn’t
sit in the chancel. Jacob sat in the first pew right in front of us. I was so
proud of him I kept wanting to reach out and ruffle his hair (that would have
made him indignant) or just touch him. But he was such a concentrated study in
self-control that I restrained myself. Confusion at the end, because the
signals to leave weren’t what he’d practiced, and he and the other acolyte ended
up carrying their lit tapers through a crowd of people down that long aisle. I
had a moment of worry that they’d set someone on fire, but all was well.
The morning started with a phone call
from Jordan: where was his baseball jersey? He last saw it in my bedroom, and
if we didn’t find it he couldn’t play in the championship game. Great guilt! I
looked, even went through the laundry hamper searching for a white jersey.
Finally called the woman who had cleaned for me Friday—contrary to what my
regular lady told me, this one did not have much English. She promised her son
would call in 15 minutes, and he did—between us we worked out that it was
indeed in the hamper but was dark blue. I threw it in the washer and hung it
out to dry while we were in church. Crisis averted.
After church we wanted a quick lunch.
Went to Esperanza’s down the block—wrong move. Sunday after church is their
busiest time, and we didn’t finish eating until two. Jordan took off to go to
the Cowboy game, and Christian and Jacob and I came back to get the shirt and
look for his hat, now also missing. I thought I knew where it was in my office,
but it wasn’t there. Christian found it, fallen between the small stand and the
floor. Another crisis averted. Life with nine-year-old boys is, well, amusing
at the least. As they left Jacob was getting a lecture about not leaving things
strewn all over my house but collecting and taking care of his belongings.
Wonder how much good that will do?
The rest of the day was a lovely lazy
Sunday. I’m reading Susan Elia McNeal’s Mrs.
Roosevelt’s Confidante and enjoying it, though as fiction it takes real
liberties with fact. Still, the early days of WWII in DC are fascinating and
the plot is fast-moving. I’m having fun. A nap, and a bowl of stew from last
night in front of the fireplace. What more could one ask on a chilly evening?
November is really here.
Hope it’s a good week for everyone.
5 comments:
It does sound like a wonderful service, Judy! And how lovely to have a grandson as an acolyte to give a personal meaning to the pageantry. Thanks for the chuckle about the crises of jersey and hat, and the futility of lecturing nine-year-olds on keeping track of their belongings--good luck with that, I said silently to the lecturing parent... :)
Re-Esperanza's. I use to love Esperanzas when they were located on Hemphill, they moved down the street from you and now it's just terrible. If given the choice I rather go to Mexican Inn, cattycorner from Esperanza's.
I'm not very fond of either one. I really like the food at Uncle Julio's.
Uncle Julio's? of course, they employed two of the best bartenders in the history of mankind.
They were two of my favorites, of course, even the time one threw an ice cube clear across the waiting area to land plop! in my wine. Good aim, that kid had!
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