The Last Few Days

The weekend started early, with L'il Malcolm and the Houserockers getting down to it at The Surf Club in Hyattsville. (Be honest now, does it look like I'm losing weight?) Friday night was spent at home. I had to do laundry sooner or later.

Saturday morning I attended a First Communion party for a young man who shares the bounty of my gigantic basket in a church basement every Easter Sunday. I had to bring a present, of course. So I pulled out a statue of the Little Infant of Prague, hand-carved in the Philippines (where he is known as "Santo Nino"), put it in a red velvet bag, and called it a day.

That night I met my friend "Naomi" at Glen Echo Park (That's her in the picture. Nice hair, huh?) for an evening of salsa and marengae. I was really at the top of my form, if I do say so. Once I get over the preoccupation to emulate all the ballroom techniques (that to which my Puerto Rican friend Maria disdains as "gringo salsa"), and concentrate on the essence of the genre itself, like the Latinos learn on the streets, I do alright for myself. Even so, Keith Givens is the best dance instructor of any genre that I've ever met.

That morning, I awoke late, and went off to Georgetown, my old neighborhood, for a Mass at my former parish there. They had a dozen or so students for their First Communion. There was the usual omission of male pronouns for God the Father in certain strategic locations. (Even after the archbishop came down on them a few years ago, for all manner of minutiae, they still don't get it.)

On the other hand, I was spared the emphasis on "Divine Mercy Sunday," a recently added feast day for the Sunday after Easter, preceeded by its accompanying novena, all of which strikes me as totally out of character with the Paschal season. Fankly, I really don't care what Sister Faustina thinks she heard Jesus saying. We should be spending the Octave of Easter singing Alleluias, not moaning a dreary novena about "His sorrowful passion."

That was the previous week, remember? Christ is risen...dammit!

I think "Divine Mercy Sunday" should be moved to the Fifth Sunday of Lent, when we traditionally began "Passiontide" with the veiling of statues. The novena would begin, not end, on that day, and would end the day before Maundy Wednesday, leading right into the Triduum. Thus a devotional practice, in keeping with the spirit and letter of Vatican II, would derive itself from true character of sacred worship and the liturgical year -- as opposed to the other way around.

I'd raise a stink with the Pope about this, if I ever thought he answered his own mail.

Anyway, I was still too worn out last night to join L'il Malcolm at the Cat's Eye Pub in Baltimore, for one last round of jammin.' So after an afternoon of cajun and waltz with Jim Briley and the Riverdale Ramblers, we stopped at Au Pied du Cochon (known among Georgetowners as "The Pig") for a light supper, then on home to retire.

This week should be relatively quiet. One or two projects to complete at work, and a possible dance in Philadelphia this Friday. Meanwhile, I'm working on a book to be published this summer, the title of which is volksrituell. More on that later.