Way back in the day when I was still in high school – maybe around 15 years old – I attended the bridal shower of a family friend. It was an tasteful afternoon tea and since I didn’t know many people there I was quite happy to go into the kitchen and help with the serving and the cleaning. Later I heard the hostess (who to me was one of the most elegant women I had ever laid eyes on) say to my mother, “Your daughter was such a great help. What a lovely young lady.”
I was what you might call a “late bloomer” in the breast development department. And when they finally did show up, there wasn’t a whole lot going on. My late brother used to taunt me unmercifully with, “Flatsie, flatsie, Mary’s flat and that’s that.” Turns out he was prescient, because living flat is now my choice.
My sister sent me the full collection of Laura Ingalls Wilder’s Little House series for my birthday. Diving back into the pioneer world of the Ingalls family has left me feeling a bit nostalgic and plenty grateful that I don’t have to churn my own butter. As an 8-year-old I was fascinated by the whole concept of pig bladder as balloon; as an adult it’s been an entirely different experience.
Last week a friend texted me from the airport. She was waiting at the gate and among the passengers was a church group headed to Guatemala.
Her text read,
“A group of ‘Christians’ are heading to Guatemala. And they are BASHING Catholics. My first instinct was to ask, WWMAD?”
Today, Ash Wednesday, millions of the faithful will hear this reminder: “Remember that you are dust and unto dust you shall return.” For me, the timing is appropriate. Continue reading