Holy Week

All right. I have to admit that Christmas has always been my favorite time of year. Easter definitely took second place. Still does, even with all the chocolate.

Don't get me wrong. I love Easter, with its wonderful message of renewal. And Jesus' promises manifested in his own Resurrection? Both sublime and overwhelmingly joyful.

But the season has so many problems for me now.

--I am allergic to palms, so the troubles start early. Here we go again. No mass for Palm Sunday. Well, this year I looked forward to the Reconciliation service instead. Always on the last Saturday before Easter. I walked to the church, some fifteen minutes. Only to find that this year, because our churches are shrinking, the service was celebrated at one of our sister parishes. And I returned home on foot, way too late to drive to the other parish.

No big deal. God knows I tried.

--I am allegic to candle smoke. Well, it makes me asthmatic, anyway. That cancels the Easter Vigil, where EVERYONE lights a candle during the service. Too bad, but there is still the Sunday Morning Service.

--I am allergic to many perfumes and colognes. Took me years to find some I can wear. Easter Sunday everyone and their family comes to Mass. The place is packed and I cannot breathe without reacting to some person's signature fragrance. No Mass on Easter Sunday. You haven't lived life to the fullest, until you've seen the look on some poor parishoner's face when they smell the Albuterol inhaler.

--And one last health-related, more specifically MS-related, issue. Up into the attic to find the Easter weaths and decorations. Where the heck are they all? Where is the Easter plaque? Now, I know me well. It is up there somewhere, probably right under my nose the whole time, just like the lady at Conklin and Rorick said.

Never mind, we'll buy something else. Takes forever though, because Husband RJ is not Catholic, so everything needs to be rather generic. A nice little suncatcher that says something sweet and generic about God and creation: "God touches the earth with beauty." Another sweet little generic sentiment for after Easter: "Life is but a journey" done in black ink on blond maple.

The rest of the decorations turn up after a thorough search. All are duly hung in their proper spots. The new items are paraded past Husband RJ, who pronounces them appropriate, and prepped and hung.

Voila! Easter may now arrive!

Actually, I'm getting quite good at the rebound.

pb
Little Pond