I love Sundays. Generally, we begin with Mass, then brunch with whomever is home. We clean up as a family, then maybe read or take a nap. In early afternoon, we might tackle a small project together or go for a drive (maybe to pick up some more flowers for the front yard). Then we’ll have a snack or a treat and play a game or take a long walk. We come home, prepare and eat dinner together (and clean up again), then watch something we can all enjoy before prayers, bed, and the start of a new week.
When Trevor was home, 11:00 AM Mass was the norm: He loved to serve ad orientem, with incense and chant. Lily, on the other hand, struggles with both smoke and crowds of people, so she prefers 7:30 AM—which means most Sundays, even coffee waits until after church.
Unless Jodi and I are serving, arriving early for 7:30 AM Mass has proven to be a challenge, and too often I find myself throwing a quick salute to Father as we scurry to our pew before the processional. As a result, frequently my mind is racing when I kneel to pray and then stand as the music begins. I usually arrive at the Collect (the first “Let us pray…”) with my intentions intact, but—unless I’m a reader—somewhere between first and second readings, my mind begins to rush ahead.
So, brunch this morning…we have enough eggs, but the sausage isn’t thawed yet. And we need fruit. We could stop on the way home. Should probably fill the car, too—but I guess that could wait if we’re going run to Ace later for mulch.
Mulch. What else did we need at Ace?
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Archangel Stomp 