Thursday, December 8, 2011

A Day for Sinners and Saints

Vacation is in the homestretch. In forty-eight hours or so, we shall be a big old jet airliner flying home to the State of Concrete Gardens. While I could not imagine living in Florida until at least forty-five minutes after affixing of the toe tag, it has been a nice place to visit. Happiness is being able to run outside in a sleeveless t-shirt and shorts in the wee small hours of the morning.

Like a lot of good Irish families, the Kennys are Catholic. Fortunately for me, by the time I was matriculating my way through elementary school Dad's employer (Wardlaw), which was an all-boys' school had consummated its relationship with the nearby all-girls' school Hartridge to become a co-educational institution. Albeit one with an incredibly long, difficult to say aloud name. Eventually I got the hang of it.

I started at W-H in 5th grade. By staying active in school, I managed to escape the torture of CCD class. No CCD, no Confirmation. I was dancing the Texas Two-Step decades before Suzanne heard the siren's song of Houston. Time passed and neither Mom nor Dad pressed the issue. Being agnostic even at that young age, I certainly did not either. Thus, while I have been married for close to two decades, I have never been confirmed...unless being a confirmed A**hole counts. Occasionally my wife indicates to me that it is.

Today is a day of some significance on the Roman Catholic Church's calendar. It is the Feast of the Immaculate Conception, which is not to be confused with the Feast of the Immaculate Reception celebrated annually in Pittsburgh and Oakland Pennsylvania but NOT in Oakland, California. I enjoyed this day the few years I went to catholic grammar school - at least when it fell during the school week. Happiness is day off from school. Religious beliefs be damned (or is that non-believers be damned?), I can never get that quite correct.

This day also always makes me think of one of my favorite Springsteen lyrics, which I presume is not on Pope Eggs Benedict's iPod playlist:

His countryside's burnin' with wolfman fairies dressed in drag for homicide
They hit and run, plead sanctuary, 'neath a holy stone they hide
They're breakin' beams and crosses with a spastic's reelin' perfection
nuns run bald through Vatican halls pregnant, pleadin' immaculate conception


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