AH, THE OLD DAYS!

Sunday mornings usually finds me with TLW (The Little Woman) in the sixth pew from the front of the altar, center right. There we sit and I go through the ritualistic and probably futile attempts to ask for God’s forgiveness.

This past Sunday, there was a young family of a Mom, young daughter and her younger brother, sitting in the pew in front of us.

As the priest spoke, the young man was imitating the priest, his hand actions and even his stance, while the sister watched in amusement. It brought me back to my salad days as ans instigator of pious revelry. I too, entertained my sisters while Mom wasn’t looking. I usually had a target or two that held my amusement, and made my sisters laugh.

There was one couple; an elderly lady who wore a mink shawl to church every Sunday morning. Her family name was on a metal or brass plate at the end of the pew, where she sat with her lawyer husband. This she felt gave her entitlement to the pew, and she and her husband alone could sit there.

Of course, if we got there before her, we would grab that pew, and watch her fume, as she would sit somewhere else. (Good for you, Mom!) When she arrived earlier than us, we made it a point to sit right behind her. I made it a point to be within range! One Sunday I found this big ole spider, climbing the pew I was in. I picked it up and placed it in her hair, which was well coiffed, and watched the spider disappear into her stiff hairdo. This was the cause of uncontrollable laughter from the girls, and I frankly was proud of myself. (This goes as a public confession!)

Then there was the time we prayed the “Our Father” out loud as a congregation every Sunday. And every Sunday, behind the ole girl, I prayed: ”Our Father, who art in heaven, ‘HAROLD’ be thy name.”

Well, Old Roses and Peaches and Cream, would turn around and give me the coldest look! When I continued: “And give us our steak and daily bread.” I swore she was going to hit me!

Confused, tired, angered that this blogue exist. Afraid it will get into children’s hands? Write to your congressman, and tell him: Mr. Congressman, please read DelBloggolo, it will keep you fram making an ass of yourself while in session!