Paroxysm and Curiosities

I came late to the Catholic faith and fell in love with the mass. No matter the language in which it is spoken the ritual touches me.

The cathedral across from Calderon Park is the one I like best. The door is always open. Every weekend these guys pictured entertain tourists and locals with haunting Andes music in front of the church wall. The acoustic bounce is brilliant.

As I happened by, though, They played the melodies from Paul McCartney's "Yesterday", and, perhaps in homage to St. Patrick, "Danny Boy". Wonderful tunes that go straight to my nostalgic heart.

I turned the corner and entered the church. Mass just ended so I knelt in a pew about midway down the long aisle. A nun's choir sang the angelic recessional music. In fact, about half the congregation was religious orders.

Tingling with emotion I am muttering some Our Father's and Hail Mary's and asking God to make me less of a fool. One of the passing nuns, as tall standing as I am kneeling, gently touches my shoulder and whispers "Vaya Con Dios".

That does it. My face starts raining in convulsive sobs. I try, in vain, to control this unmanly display. My heart just won't have it though!

Finally the church is empty and I walk the aisle out, emptying my pockets of all the Susan B. Anthony's I have into the hand of the tiny, wizened Indigena who sits at the doorway. The nun who stopped for me is talking to the priest. She glances up, smiles at me and waves.