Tag Archives: celiac disease

Can You Hear Me, Now?

27 Nov

We had a delightful fellow as our supply this morning.  We were standing together at the back of the sanctuary before  service, and I was – in my usual bossy way – giving him the low-down on all the peculiar things our parish does.  When I got finished, he turned to me and asked, in all seriousness, if I was also going to preach the sermon. Both The Squire and the Senior Warden assured him that I was perfectly capable of doing so, if necessary.

We have one member who has severe celiac disease, and I had handed him the mini-ciborium for her use, and told him I would give him a heads up when she came to the rail. I did so, but he didn’t seem to have hear me, so I reached around behind and tugged on his alb.

Later, at coffee hour, I mentioned that he hadn’t heard me, and he raised one eyebrow. “What makes you so sure I wasn’t ignoring you?”


He chuckled and continued, “When I am speaking  directly to God, I’m not going to stop and talk to you.”


Doing My Part

17 Nov

I went back to the “Y” yesterday for the first time since my surgery in late September. I had to reinstate my membership, so was still in the lobby when an Islamic family came in, looking scared to death. I’d never seen them before, so they probably joined while I was AWOL.

They appeared to be a mother, father, and 20-ish daughter.  I went over and gave each of the women a hug, telling them how sorry I was for what had happened, meaning, of course, the Paris attacks. I remembered my manners and didn’t try to hug the father, but bowed slightly, and repeated the only Arabic phrase I know – Saleem Aliakam. I probably butchered both the spelling and the pronunciation, but it means “Peace be with you”, and our former rector always said it to our Moroccan exchange student, when we passed the Peace at church.  (Thank you, Fr. Al and Youssef.) The father bowed back and then took both of my hands in his, and looked as if he was going to cry. Later, the two ladies thanked me, and apologized for “those crazy people”. I replied we all have our share of crazies.

Oliver Cromwell used to ring the alarm bells in English towns, which was a sign for every one to run to the church to see what was going on. He’d lock the people in  the church and then set fire to it. Not much different from firing a gun in a crowded theatre.  And all in the name of religion. I’m not sure God is at all pleased.

Onward and upward.

I didn’t accomplish very much at the “Y”, as so many people wanted to welcome me back and ask how I was doing. You can’t just say “Fine, thank you” and keep going (well, maybe you can, but I can’t!) so I spent a lot of time chatting and singing the praises of my operation. And my surgeon.

Just as well. I was sore at the dickens this morning. This is going to take a while.

We are having a candlelight vigil at church tonight, and of course any Episcopal gathering involves food. My girlfriend sent me the picture on the right, and I found a recipe for a cheese ball and had at it. Several folks in our congregation have celiac disease, so when I stopped to pick up the American cheese, I grabbed a green pepper to use for the stem and leaves instead of what seems to be a pretzel and obviously, cookies. cheeseball

DSCN0031Mine turned out this way.

Take your pick.

While I was working, I took a nibble of cheese. I’d forgotten how horrible American cheese is. Yuck!



Rude Awakening

6 Jun

We had a Fish Fry at church this evening, and I had offered to take some of the load off the cook by making gluten-free dishes for several folks at church who have celiac disease.

I woke up this morning to the sound of people screaming, as I backed my car into a large shelf full of expensive knick-knacks. We had arrived at the dinner only to realize I had left the food at home. I excused myself and rushed out to the car, which was inexplicably parked in someone’s living room, and in my rush to leave, hit a valuable étagère.

Obviously, all a dream. The screaming I heard was that blasted Eddie telling me he was starving. I staggered out of bed at an ungodly hour, scared up some breakfast, and made up the mac and cheese, and got the ingredients together for the cornbread, and went back to finish my sleep. Both food items went into the oven at 3:30, and we arrived at church at 4:00 on the dot.

The Fish Fry went very well, but we had one minor kerfuffle.

Many, many years ago, before The Squire and I were even dating, never mind married, somebody broke into my apartment, jumped me from behind, beat me up (yes, that’s a euphemism), and tried to smother me with a pillow.  To this day it is worth your life to touch me on the back or squeeze my neck if I do not know you are there. Even after forty years of marriage, if I have my back to the door, The Squire will speak to me before he approaches me. It’s safer that way.  If we’re at a concert or a museum, I expect to be jostled and I can handle that, but some poor unsuspecting fellow – a friend and frequent visitor to our parish – walked behind me tonight and gave my shoulders a playful squeeze. I went off like a bottle rocket, and scared the fellow across the table – I think he believed I was choking or something, but when The Squire didn’t move, he decided to wait and see what happened. Poor Frank was dreadfully upset, but we managed to get explanations and apologies out of the way, and all’s well that ends well.