Sunday morning I rose and took a train to the South End. Caroline and Joseph had invited me to attend church with them at St. Cecilia's. I arrived early and took a spot on one of the cool stone steps leading up to the church. While people watching I saw a man with a sword and a helmet walk by, overheard a woman telling her "how he proposed" story on her cell phone, and listened to the best elderly men in the world discuss their lives.
Eventually Caroline and Joseph showed up.
The church was gorgeous. The service was beautiful. The music ensemble was fantastic. But most impressive about this Mass was the priest. Father John, a young italian man whose speech was peppered with "huh?"s, and "you know what I'm sayin'?"s gave a passionate sermon about choices, and hearing the right voice above all the other ones. It began with a description of his childhood and ended with a lighthearted joke about THC, but in the middle was honesty, truth and a plea to hear it all. "I'm begging you," he said, "to not take this story and just think of the story. But rather see how your story fits into it."
"I told you he was great," Caroline said as she made up my plate. Back at the Regnato homestead we were feasting on beef with coconut rice and a mango salad.
After dessert (chocolate cake with rasberries, blueberries and blackberries) Caroline and Joseph led me through my weekly Spanish lessons. As we studied thunder rolled through Brookline frightening boys on scooters and upsetting car alarms. But it didn't rain. Not yet.
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