Back when I was a deacon, one of my favorite things to do was serve communion.
I was kind of bad at it. I couldn’t stop myself from saying, “Hi,” before the rest of the script. And I would smile & draw out the eyeee in Hi. It sounded like a valley girl slapped on pearls and turned Presbyterian, “Hieye! Christ’s love poured out for you. [Wink]” Sometimes, if I knew someone’s name, I might say it, and sometimes, I might even touch their arm affectionately.
But, no, I didn’t really wink.
This one time, OMG, I almost busted out laughing. A young woman didn’t dip her bread in the cup the way everyone else ahead of her had done — the way it was done every communion in that church — since the days of Jimmy Stewart, I’m sure — (yeah, that’s the church I went to; isn’t that cool?) — anyway! — she didn’t dip, instead, she . . . she . . . she bent her head down to the cup and began to drink directly from it.
What was I to do? I couldn’t yank it away. I was just, like, thinking, “So THIS is happening.” And I guess I must have tipped the cup towards her. It was pretty awkward.
No one else seemed to notice.
Just a strand of yarn today, no time to knit it into anything.
Must wake up in five hours to pack for our Thanksgiving getaway. I hope to have more time to write from there. Vacation: writing and walking, walking and writing, ahhhh.