The Fourth Sunday of Easter
Colette had layrngitis this morning and sat out all the choir numbers, sitting sort of near the gay corner of church. I call it the gay corner because not only do Russell and Lawrence sit there but it also seems to have the best accoustics of any spot in the main sanctuary. When I sing there I can harmonize with just about anyone else who sings loudly enough, either behind me or in front. So, it was no surprise to see Colette there on her rare morning off.
I was late for Mass and missed the part of Rev. Kate's sermon that explained what she was talking about. At first, I thought she was talking about Tabitha, also known as Dorcas, who was raised from the dead according to the Book of Acts [9:36-42 ]. But, at another point in the sermon Rev. Kate began talking about her enrolling in summer school at Tufts -- so, I knew I had missed something.
I was miffed at myself all morning for having left the apartment late and not enjoying a cup of coffee at Broadway Diner. Not even a friendly handshake from Frontpage could melt my outlook. I decided not to take Communion.
I've decided, whether or not you actually believe it is the actual body and blood of Christ, that the Host is still pretty powerful medicine. You should only take it while in a good mood.
Paradise was nowhere in sight during The Peace. I can only assume his arthritis was acting up. It was drizzly this morning, which only added to my bad mood feelings of guilt and despair.
Then, something interesting happened. I saw Clifton and went over to sit with him after service was over. Clifton is from Virginia and he has the same gentleness and shyness that a lot of my people have. Except that he is white and I would never presume to know everything that is going on for him, for instance, what the rest of his family is like, or anything like that.
But, so soon after coming back from the summer house, it was a little like bumping into someone from "back home". I think he felt it too. We stood around and waited for the weekly clusterf**k to dissipate from around the Crosbys. Then, we each received air kisses from the stricken Colette. I felt honored.
Coffee Hour went very fast. Clifton and I sat down at a table with some new visitors and we took extra pains to introduce ourselves. But, it was no use; we were pretty much in each other's thrall for the rest of the morning. Marilyn came over to break things up a little. And, that was interesting. Pretty soon we were all sitting in a small circle of folding chairs with Susan Hill, like we were conducting our own little panel discussion, there in the middle of Parish Hall.
On the way out, we met DW.1 and I decided to introduce them to each other, for Clifton had given every indication of not knowing who he was when I had tried to describe him. I thought they had a little bit in common, both being self-employed in a kind of boutique product industry (antique rugs vs. homemade perfume.) Before I knew it, we were both headed in the subway, babbling away. I couldn't help notice how different I felt after a while. My mood had changed. Everyone was wearing such nice rain jackets.
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