Life in the Village....

Darlings, here I am, back in the very HEART of nowhere, dear old Council Bluffs.

The train arrived on-timeish on Tuesday, and was a totally satisfactory ride. I have a post bubbling up in here somewhere about train travel in general, so I won't elaborate, except to say it was very nice.

Wednesday was spent mostly at the hospital, for the aforementioned last chemo. Mother Vel-DuRay is officially in remission, and will hopefully stay that way. Chemo is a dreary affair, and I wouldn't wish it on anyone. But, like everything, it was a learning experience. Medical technology is truly both amazing and terrible, and I hope I never have to see the extremely capable and kind people at the Lied (pronounced LEAD, as in "follow the leader") treatment center at the University of Nebraska medical school ever again.

So with that under our belt, today was FUN day (well, comparatively speaking)!

It began early in the day with a meeting with a plumber who will hopefully be installing a washer hookup in my old bedroom, so that Mother VDR doesn't have to go to the basement (except for tornadoes). He had a very cute Mexican along as his sidekick, but I managed to contain myself.

Then it was shopping time: The social work people have said that Mother VDR is welcome to stay in her home, but certain allowances have to be made (grab bars, non-skid throw rugs, and something called a "toilet riser", to name just a few) so I started out downtown to find what I could.

Of course, there's nothing left in downtown Council Bluffs but bars and thrift shops, but isn't that a wonderful way to start? At the thrift store that used to be the appliance store (right next door to the church that used to be a grocery store, and down the block from the vacant lot that used to be a hotel that Abraham Lincoln stayed at) I carried on a very intense flirtation with an absolutely amazing cooktop, range hood and double wall oven, all in Turquoise. But - with the wisdom born of long experience - I know that long distance relationships seldom work out, and I really can't cheat on the Fabulous 400, can I? But then again, it could be my "ace in the hole" should I ever end up back in this godawful town: Mother VDR's kitchen is a true early 90's horror, and her basement has plenty of storage space. I'll keep you posted.

Then it was on to the thrift store of the Community of Christ (who are like the Mormons, but not. They used to be called the reorganized church of Latter-Day Saints. I think they were founded by Joseph Smith's ex-wife) It's located in the old Western Auto store, across the street from where the Livery stable used to be. It was there that I found a marvelous percolator for the project that I need to telll you about (well, not you, Sylvia. You have the inside scoop)

After that, it was the boring shopping: I found the grab bar and a drill at Romano's Hardware (which is located where nothing was before) and then to Sears, Target and Hy-Vee (where the cornfield used to be) for various pretties. And yes, I renewed my low grade obsession with The Dreamy Butcher, Cole. (who still doesn't know I exist) I swear to you, dear readers, that if I figure out a way to take a picture of him, without looking like a pathetic middle-aged queen with a puppy love crush, I will.

Then home, and several hours later, to the highlight of the day: Holy Thursday Service at Saint Peter's Catholic Church! (which, in what should have been a dire warning to me, now bills itself as "The country church in the city").

Back in MY day, Holy Thursday was a very theatrical event: Incense, hymns in Latin, processions, more incense, more hymns, all the statues draped in Purple - very, very Catholic, and hugely campy. It was really quite the production, so I was somewhat looking forward to it. Well, so much for that.

I really don't have anything against going to church when I'm home. It keeps the peace in the house and, as they say, When in Rome... but this was a tired, hackneyed affair, full of kiddies and hokey, hokey, hokey hymns that all sounded like they had been written by a theology student who needed an extra twenty-five bucks for tafetta.

After quite a few tacky hymns, all sung in the most insecure harmony by two parishoners who also strummed guitars, the time came for the big finale: The procession that culminates in exposition of the blessed sacrament in the monstrance (yes, I know I'm getting into the Catholic weeds here. I promise you I'm on my way out)

When I was an altar boy at St. Peters, back in the bronze age, I sweated out quite a few Holy Thursday services until I was finally promoted to the big time - the lead altar boy who had to walk backwards through the entire church, while vigorously swinging a heavy censer full of hot coals and incense, until we reached the side altar, where I handed the contraption off to the priest, and retreated to a corner to discreetly hack up a lung. If you don't think this is an accomplishment for a twelve year old, I want you to come to Chez Vel-DuRay in a pair of sansabelt slacks, a polyester dress shirt, a clip on tie, and dress shoes that are either a size too small, or a size too big. There, I will have you put on a floor length black robe, then a white blousy thing that goes over it, and have you try it. After you fall on your ass and are burned by the coals, I'll put out the fire, give you some bactine, and we can have a cocktail.

Anyway, needless to say, the procession is NOTHING like it used to be: Not only is there no backwards walking with incense (liability issues?) they don't even fire up the incense until they get to the area where the side altar used to be. And instead of a side altar (which was a victim of a 70's era renovation), they just set the monstrance up on a thing that looks like a 70's era stereo speaker (which just proves that all the priests at St. Peters are straight. No gay man would stand for such a tacky thing to set a monstrance on)

And to add insult to injury, after sitting through all those tacky hymns, they finally hauled out one of the good ones for the lackluster procession. Trouble was, they used an organist who had apparently just seen an organ for the first time. What he lacked in skill, he made up for in volume (which is a Council Bluffs thing) therefore totally drowning out the soloist, who decided to sight read the hymn and sing it in Latin, which he had apparently never seen before.

Needless to say, it was a disappointment. I can only shudder when I think of what tomorrow (Good Friday Service) will bring.