it is better to give than to take
Morning at the Chateau de Healy.
Ireland's greatest living poet comes breezing up the hall full of the joys of living.
I find my brother Padre Peter sitting in the kitchen surrounded by admiring family members.
He is on a flying visit home from his parish.
"Hey Pete," sez I. "Don't go anywhere. There's a book I want you to see."
I nip back to my room and fetch him my pristine hardback copy of the new Mother Angelica biography by Raymond Arroyo.
The book is my most precious possession at the moment.
It was first recommended to me by Robyn, a visitor to this website from Texas.
It's the true story of a nun who set up a television station.
A week ago, not very optimistically, I shelled out twenty quid for it thinking that it would be a worthy but dull read about vocational living.
Well folks.
I've said it before and I'll say it again.
Nuns have been very much misunderstood.
Mainly by me.
I'm telling you this thing reads like a thriller.
I've been coming home every evening looking forward to diving back into it.
Anyhoo.
I handed the book to Pete, said my farewells, and departed Dublinwards for a rendezvous with Awd Spanishy.
Awd Spanishy was in fine Spanish fettle.
Her and her castanets, and her flashing eyes, and her take-me-to-the-casbah.
She'd argue with her shadow too.
She'd argue with her shadow about... about light refraction I suppose.
Arf, arf.
She would though.
Ah, but she's a handsome gerrul.
(Heelers means she's tolerably good looking in a fiery Spanish loon sort of way. - Ed note)
I arrived back at the chateau late this evening, tired but happy, and looking forward to unwinding at the fireside with my Mother Angelica book.
A brief rummage did not find it.
I hurried into the kitchen.
"Where's my book?" I enquired of the aged parents.
The Mammy raised her eyebrows while the Dad pretended to be mixing up porridge for the squirrel.
There was an awkward silence.
"You gave it to Peter," said the Mammy finally.
"I gave it to him to look through," quoth I moderately aghast.
"He thought you were giving it to him for keeps," said the Mammy.
And somewhere, not too far away, the music from The Good The Bad And The Ugly went Aieeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaiiiiiiaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.
Ireland's greatest living poet comes breezing up the hall full of the joys of living.
I find my brother Padre Peter sitting in the kitchen surrounded by admiring family members.
He is on a flying visit home from his parish.
"Hey Pete," sez I. "Don't go anywhere. There's a book I want you to see."
I nip back to my room and fetch him my pristine hardback copy of the new Mother Angelica biography by Raymond Arroyo.
The book is my most precious possession at the moment.
It was first recommended to me by Robyn, a visitor to this website from Texas.
It's the true story of a nun who set up a television station.
A week ago, not very optimistically, I shelled out twenty quid for it thinking that it would be a worthy but dull read about vocational living.
Well folks.
I've said it before and I'll say it again.
Nuns have been very much misunderstood.
Mainly by me.
I'm telling you this thing reads like a thriller.
I've been coming home every evening looking forward to diving back into it.
Anyhoo.
I handed the book to Pete, said my farewells, and departed Dublinwards for a rendezvous with Awd Spanishy.
Awd Spanishy was in fine Spanish fettle.
Her and her castanets, and her flashing eyes, and her take-me-to-the-casbah.
She'd argue with her shadow too.
She'd argue with her shadow about... about light refraction I suppose.
Arf, arf.
She would though.
Ah, but she's a handsome gerrul.
(Heelers means she's tolerably good looking in a fiery Spanish loon sort of way. - Ed note)
I arrived back at the chateau late this evening, tired but happy, and looking forward to unwinding at the fireside with my Mother Angelica book.
A brief rummage did not find it.
I hurried into the kitchen.
"Where's my book?" I enquired of the aged parents.
The Mammy raised her eyebrows while the Dad pretended to be mixing up porridge for the squirrel.
There was an awkward silence.
"You gave it to Peter," said the Mammy finally.
"I gave it to him to look through," quoth I moderately aghast.
"He thought you were giving it to him for keeps," said the Mammy.
And somewhere, not too far away, the music from The Good The Bad And The Ugly went Aieeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaiiiiiiaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.
posted by heelers | 2:46 AM
4 Comments:
Oh dear --- may I send you another from your newest best friend?? I will need your address which you can email to me....
I liked the book, too. Mother Angelica was one feisty Italian lady (like moi)
Hey Adrienne.
I couldn't let you do that.
Well I could. But I know I shouldn't!
Mother Angelica is amazing, isn't she.
I saw one of her programmes tonight from 1998.
Someone phoned in and said to her:
"I have no one in the world. I am completely alone. An only child. No family. Nothing."
And Mother Angelica said quietly:
"We're all your family. We have the same Father as you do. You are not alone. You are a part of everything around you. Your community, your town, your country, the world, the universe. I love you."
It was just perfect.
I think Mother A is still at the monastery being cared for by the sisters.
I pray for her sometimes.
J
If you decide in the positive my email is on my blog.
I agree with Mother A about being alone. I am always puzzled when folks say they are lonely. When I feel the need to be with people I just go out and there they are - just waiting to visit and tell me their life story.
I went shopping last week and spent an hour talking to a 80 year old lady in a store.
When I come home and tell hubby the life story of a new acquaintence, he always wants to know why people tell me all these things. My answer? Because I ask. It's that simple.
Adrienne, you're a joy.
J
Post a Comment
<< Home