… one of the coffee urns at the house is somehow lacking a cord, and after discussing sending someone to Radio Shack or Benny’s to pick up another one, someone says, “Why don’t we call church? You know they have one.”<\/p>\n
You know. “The Catholic Church”. It’s in the yellow pages.<\/p>\n
And naturally, one of us “calls church”, talks to the priest – a well-known family friend, who of course says, “Yes, we have a cord you can borrow … come on up …”<\/p>\n
So one of us drives up to the rectory, knocks on the door, and there is the priest holding a coffee urn cord for us to borrow for the massive baby shower about to unfold at the house. “We’ll bring it back at the 8 o’clock mass. Okay?” “Okay.”<\/p>\n
You can leave your small village in County Mayo, and live elsewhere, and yes, my ancestors did so, but on some level, you bring it with you.<\/p>\n
Just call church. You know they’ve got a ton of coffee urns up there.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
… one of the coffee urns at the house is somehow lacking a cord, and after discussing sending someone to Radio Shack or Benny’s to pick up another one, someone says, “Why don’t we call church? You know they have … Continue reading