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Today in My History2001: The Princess in My Kitchen
2002: Dust Bunnies and HMOs
2003: Over the Rainbow
2004: A Disappointment
2005: Google Me, Baby!
2006: Come Out, Come Out, Whoever You Are
2007: How Do They Do It?
2008: Once a Transcriptionist
2009: Found on the Internet
2010: Blackwell's Corners
2011: Girly Stuff
2012: A Potentially Expensive Venture
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GOOD FOR THE SOUL?
11 January 2013
Yesterday was my day to work at Logos again. This time I didn't really look around for long. I had decided last week that this week I would read a Danielle Steel book. I think my mother has read every book she has ever written and I knew they were pretty easy (quick) reading, and we had a huge number of them in the bargain book section, so I chose the thinnest one, a book called "Miracle," which is about a new widower trying to get his life back together again. A pretty predictable plot, but it read quickly--and was even a large print edition, which made it that much easier. I probably won't read another of her books, but I now know what her books are like.
I finished the book with an hour to spare. Last time that happened, I gave in and read my Kindle and got caught by Peter, who grumbled about my reading an electronic book. I explained why I happened to be reading it (very slow day, no customers and deadline on the book I was reading). But I decided not to do that this time, so I looked around for something I could read at for an hour, knowing there was no way to finish a second book in that short a time.
I picked a book about a woman who bought a home in France in her 40s. Didn't read much of it, and it was to much like Peter Mayle's "Year in Provence," so I won't go back to reading it again when I work next week, but the book starts with an introduction which traces, briefly, her childhood and what ultimately brought her to buying the house.
She attended Catholic school when she was growing up and she mentioned going to confession. It set off all sorts of memories in my head, thost dreaded Fridays when I was in grammar school.
I don't think they call it "confession" any more. I think it's something like the "sacrament of reconciliation" or something like that, though I checked a page on catholicism and it's now the Sacrament of Penance or the sacrament of reconciliation.
When I was a kid, Confession consisted of going in a little dark booth. There were three sections. In the middle the priest sat and on either side were kneelers for the person about to confess his/her sins. Now I understand you and the priest sit in the same room, across from each other and just talk. Sounds worse than the dark booth to me! But then what do I know about this stuff any more?
On Friday afternoon, we would march from school to church. Our grammar school was at one end of a long block and the church was at the opposite end.
I think the whole school went to school on Friday, so I guess our class had an assigned time to go. We would line up and parade down the street and into the church, where we would sit toward the back, near the confessionals, and then line up row by row.
I hated standing in line in front of the confessional, trying not to hear what the person in the booth was confessing. I always got so nervous that I had to go to the bathroom, but there was no bathroom in the church so I just had to suffer. At least once I actually peed on the floor and tried to be nonchalant about it and not say anything.
I always confessed the same three sins: I disobeyed my parents, fought with my sister and told 3 lies. I don't know why I settled on those, but it was easier than actually figuring out what terrible things I had done during the week. If I had really done something bad, I was too embarrassed to admit it, so I logically figured that not telling that one sin was a sin of omission, so it could be considered one of the three lies I'd told and since the priest's blessing wiped out all of your sins, I would be covered.
After I'd confessed my sins, the priest would give me a penance...almost always to say 3 Our Fathers and 3 Hail Marys, which I would do in church before I left.
I always felt better after it was all over, probably mostly because it was all over, but I knew that for one brief shining moment, my soul was washed clean and if I got hit by a car on the way home, it was a straight shot into heaven.
I can't remember the last time I went to confession, it long preceded my leaving the Church. I remember confession to a priest when we were on a retreat when I was in college, but I honestly don't remember going to confession in any church I attended as an adult.
My soul is one big black splotch, I'm sure.
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