Tag Archives: Supply priests

The DEAN is Back

13 Jan

It snowed last night and most of today, and as a result, tout le monde is in a state of uproar. Honestly, you’d think the world is coming to an end.

Somebody called here this morning to ask me if we were having church. “I’m not the one to make that decision. Did you call the Senior Warden?” (Wardens, for you non-Episcopalians, are sort of church officers – Senior Warden and Junior Warden are responsible for business and property matters, respectively.) Well, no, she hadn’t. I called and the SW said Yes, we were having services this morning, so I called her back.

I’m not really sure why this person even bothered to ask, because she apparently had no intention of coming anyway. “Are you going to church?” Of course I am. “Is The Squire going with you?” Do you think he’d let me drive in this mess by myself? Anyway, she gave me some info about a couple of things to be done this morning, which we did see to.

Now,  part of the concern about whether or not we were having service was that Fr. B is away this weekend and the supply priest we had lined up had to come from quite a distance. The SW had offered the man the chance to back out gracefully if he desired, but No, all systems were Go.  Bless him, the man drove here from the Eastern Shore – in the teeth of the storm!

When we arrived, I stomped the snow off my boots, stuck out my hand and introduced myself. “Ah,” said Fr. Supply, “You are one of the Wardens, then.”

“Um, no sir. Not a warden. I’m just the DEAN. Doing Everything As Needed.”  Apparently, somebody had told him I was one of the wardens, and that I would see to it that he had whatever it was he needed this morning.

Good Grief.

Out and Back

7 Sep

The Squire and I left last Thursday morning to head off for the wilds of Tennessee and Nawth Caro-lina.  We stopped in Winchester to visit our youngest daughter and her husband, and then set off for Newport.  We stopped on the way down at a little shop and picked up a sub for dinner; not quite sure why a foot long sub costs a dollar less than two six inch sandwiches, but there you are. I grabbed a bag of “Fried Green Tomato” potato chips. They did not bear the slightest resemblance to any FGT I’d ever tasted, and cost considerably more than they were worth, to boot.

We stayed with our friends, Mr. and Mrs. Rector, in Newport. Visiting them is always a real homecoming! Managed to leave The Squire’s trousers hanging on the back of the door, but, bless ’em, they’d mailed the long pants to us, and they were waiting at the post office this morning. We reached Canton, NC mid-afternoon on Friday, and settled in with another of his sisters.

It took me several years to sort out his family, as he not only has siblings, but half-siblings in both directions. AND, his mother was one of eleven children. My mum was an only child, and I had one sister. We can have a family reunion in a phone booth and there’s room for an extra chair. They rent a pavilion in a state park.

Anyway, the Canton High School Class of 1962 fifty-fifth reunion was a grand success. The staff had hired a caterer, since so many of us no longer live in the area, which makes pot-luck tricky,  and had made sure there was something for myself and two other vegetarians to eat.  Portobello mushrooms, stuffed with – crabmeat?  “No, ma’am. That’s grated zucchini and Old Bay.” Niiice.

We had to stop on the way home from the party to find The Squire a pair of slacks so he had something to wear to church, and replaced the ones we left in Newport. Lawsy, but I hate Wal-Mart!

We attended St. Andrew’s-on-the-Hill in Canton – of course, just about everything in Canton is on-the-hill. It is rather reminiscent of Gatlinburg; it’s uphill in every direction. An Escher drawing come to life!  There was a supply priest at St. Andrew’s – “The Rev. Walter Bryan; Have stole, will travel” – who had such a resonant voice it sounded almost as if he was chanting when he was only speaking.  The nice thing about the Episcopal Church is that no matter how far you roam, on Sunday morning, you are always back home.

Monday, we took the widow of The Squire’s best friend high school to lunch, and on Tuesday we went to the public library to do some genealogy research. It is jarring to  Yankee sensibilities to see a sign on the library door saying “No Food, No Drinks, No  Weapons”.  He did find lots of information on his family, so it was a day well spent. We got a suggestion from the librarian for a local restaurant, and had lunch in a converted car dealership, now a craft brewery.  A burger for him, a flatbread pizza for me, and a pint of Slippery Rock Ale to share.

We headed back home yesterday – Wednesday – and got back about 6:30, which was very good time.  We stopped for lunch in Troutville, VA to eat at a delightful restaurant called Angelle’s Diner.  We try to avoid chains as much as possible, so we bypassed the Mickey D’s next door to go where the locals seem to eat.  Great food, onion rings to die for, and nice, nice people.

We hit the driveway here at 6:20. Blazer’s leash was in my car, so I hopped out of one vehicle and into another, and sailed off to rescue the puppy, while The Squire went in search of victuals. Both the cat and dog were glad to see us.  Eddie wouldn’t get more than three feet from us, and then sat outside the bedroom door at 1AM and yelled. I let him in and he jumped on the bed, loved me for a while and then settled down with his back against The Squire and snored most of the night. This is not  common behaviour around here, but letting him sleep with us was easier than arguing about it.




Merry Christmas

27 Dec

True to form, Resurrection was in full disorganized religion mode on the 24th.  The folks listed in the bulletin to serve as readers and ushers were not the ones who were actually scheduled, and our supply was so late – she lives in Hagerstown, and traffic was unbelieveable – that we were discussing whether or not I should just go ahead and do Evening Prayer.

Fortunately, Rev. B came scurrying up the sidewalk with seconds to spare, and all was well. (We had a situation several weeks ago when the supply neither showed nor called, and we had to do Morning Prayer at the last minute.)

We’ve been using a powerpoint system for the last year or so, as a convenience for people who weren’t born with enough arms to juggle a hymnal and a BCP – which is most of us! About halfway through the service, the computer died, and we were left going “by the book”. We started off doing Rite I, and then switched to Rite II after the Offertory. Prayer C, to make it even more interesting.

We do not have services on Christmas Day. The concensus is that not even our rowdy group could get into enough trouble overnight to need the extra service. The last time we had a Christmas Day mass was about fifteen years ago, when the entire congregation consisted of the rector, the organist, her husband, and her parents – who did not speak English.

Eldest Daughter and her family came down around noon on Christmas Day to give us a gift. We had told them not to get us anything, but she said “they’d had a good year” and wanted to give us something anyway.

A fifty-inch flat screen TV! The Squire is in seventh heaven!

We zipped over to the grocery store last night, but other than that we stayed put. The day after Christmas is, if anything,  worse than the day after Thanksgiving when it comes to malls and shops, and we avoid that sort of aggravation whenever possible. We needed birdseed, and I’m working this week, so I wanted to get some peanut butter crackers to keep in the desk. Just as well I did, as The Squire packed my breakfast and I left it home.

That’s gratitude for ya!


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.”