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Thursday, 12 March 2015

Oh, how I hate to get up in the morning.....

No parish in the area seems to have an evening weekday Mass, or even a lunchtime Liturgy, so for the rest of my life, okay, for the foreseeable future, I figure to be hauling my carcass out of bed before I would wish.
Besides, for all my complaints this is now My Parish, so I don't partifularly want to get into the habit of Going Elsewhere.
My parish. You know how that feels.
And I have in effect inherited my Mother's seat for weekday mornings, and her place in reciting decades of the Rosary.
So beyond my own devotion, I am drawn to these things by nostalgia, and love for her in whose memory I perform these tasks.
It's like my compulsion to root for Rafael Nadal.
Image result for rafael nadal handsome
(Seriously, I think Rafa ranked somewhere between the Blessed Mother and St Casimir or St Adalbert on her "devoted to..." list. Maybe ahead of Placido Domingo. Hmmm.... I just noticed - Spaniards.)
But I digress.
Anyway, I'm trying to embrace my hagitude, own my geezerhood, celebrate my cronosity - BE THE VIRAGO I WAS INTENDED TO BE.

I'm old and therefore I am doomed to keep old people hours.
There, I said it.
I've always been a night owl, so the worst part of getting up is not staying up.
Hence, I miss things like this delight from Jimmy Kimmel and Josh Groban:

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