CHAPTER SEVENI moved from Salina, Kansas to a little town called Peabody...where I would be teaching elementary through high school music. Peabody was sort of a limbo place... It was OK. My daughter's kindergarten teacher's name was Alice Cooper... just like the rock band. I liked the other teachers. A memorable experience was the band teacher -- Bob -- baked some marijuana brownies and took them to the teacher's lounge. It was the only day the crabby librarian ever loosened up and laughed and smiled. That probably was the closest to a 'religious' experience' I observed in that little town. I met a lady there who became a good friend..Her name was Joyce and it was through her that I heard about another little Kansas town which was fairly close to the Nebraska line. Miltonvale. The was a huge pivotal point in my life. I applied for a music teaching position there and got it.
Miltonvale, Kansas was the closest we ever came to claiming a 'home town' even though we were only there for three years. Those were very interesting years...and~! It had a Catholic Church! At last I would be really 'saved.' The religious journey I had been on finally had an 'end' of sorts in sight.
I liked nearly all the people in that little town...of about 1200 people. I especially liked the people in that Catholic church. The first Sunday I attended mass was sort of weird. There is a lot of kneeling, getting up and down, much ritual, etc... but I played along, enjoying myself. I spoke to the local priest who was incredibly nice and handsome -- and with whom I would have loved to have had a "Thorn Birds" relationship with.
He was delighted that I was a music teacher. Later on I became the church's organist. The organists in Catholics churches are usually 'hidden'... and with this church the organ was very atypically located in the balcony in the back. No one else sat in the balcony...except during weddings or funerals.
I made it known that I wanted to become a Catholic. Instead of Father Dan giving me instructions in Catechism... I was to receive several sessions of teaching from Monsignor LeMoine. My god, the man was weird. It was like he was constantly on stage. My first encounter with him was in his office in Concordia... He was wearing the tight fitting black robe with red edging and the little black hat that looks like those Russian winter fur hats...like the Jackie Kennedy pill box hat...kinda... He introduced himself to me...and then started pacing back and forth in front of me...quite furiously...the finger of one hand pointed against his cheek. He turned his back to me momentarily, then whirled around...swish!...and pointed that same finger towards me and rather loudly said: "What if I told you that God had no face!".... He screwed up his expression, waiting for my answer...I mumbled something like "Well, that's OK"... I don't think he was overly impressed. Basically, I remember nothing of what the man said. Most of it was theological drivel which simply was not impressing me at all.
Several weeks later, I with several other adults, were 'confirmed' in the Catholic church in Miltonvale. Finally. I was officially a Catholic. A member of the "one true church"... according to the dogma. I was "in."
It was kind of fun, actually... But it didn't seem as consistently mystical to me as I thought it would be. I thought I would feel more like the saintly, glowing nun in the movie "The Bells of St. Mary's"... but that didn't happen. But it was OK. I was more like I had been accepted into a pretigious sorority/fraternity of sorts. I had a sort of 'superior' attitude about religion now. But...that's what it was...religion...not spirituality.
I just couldn't get into praying to Mary or other saints. It was avoiding like The Head Honcho... and that, to me, wasn't exactly 'right.' After all, it was "god" I wanted to get in good with to assure my eventual entry into Heaven and avoid eternal damnation. The pictures painted by any of 'my churches' of heaven didn't exactly make it sound like a real fun, perpetual vacation spot. It sounded boring. Wearing white robes, carrying around a harp, walking the streets of gold and continuously singing praises to god didn't have much allure to it ... although it beat, if you pardon the expression, the hell out of the other place. Well. Anyway. Waddya gonna do.
I still felt something was missing.
Lori, who turned six years old, was now in the required Catholic catechism class... a sort of primer to the one that comes before Confirmation. Her's and Mike's Baptism into the Episcopal church was recognized as official by the Catholic church, as had my own Lutheran baptism.
The day that the little row of 6 year olds were to take the First Communion was quite memorable. None of the kids choked upon the taste of the wine, but Lori later remarked that the wafer had no taste to it. After the mass was over, pictures were taken. Lori stood beside her friend, Paulette Pacey, and each of the 5 children were holding 12" tall LIT candles. Paulette's candle lit Lori's white organdy veil on fire...which caused quite a stir for a few moments. Guess it was sort of like Lori's own personal baptism by fire.
Mike and Lori were both born old souls when it came to the religion thing...and nothing really 'took' as far as what I put them through. Thankfully.
I enjoyed everything about Miltonvale... the people, the job, the two cafes. I had absolutely great musical groups... It was probably the most creative of my teaching years. One high school group was made up of 8 students...an octet, made up of 4 boys and 4 girls... Not only did they sing well, but two played guitar, one a string bass, and another drums, when needed. We became fairly well known through several counties and were asked to perform for different organizations as well as churches. The one occasion which to me proved to be unforgettable took place in a neighboring town's Methodist church... We were seated (unfortunately) in two of the front pews where we were very much on display. On the altar of this little church was a carved wooden statue of the head of Jesus. It looked just exactly like Chuck Connors of the TV show "The Rifleman" ... I used poor judgment in whispering this to Mary Trahan, one of my singers...who thought it was too funny to 'keep'...and the word began to spread. Within a couple of minutes, the whole group know of my observation. Then. They all got the giggles (albeit silent ones)...and it was awful...People were staring both curiously and indignantly.
I was torn between knowing I needed to discipline them and knowing I was the one who had started the whole mess. Thankfully, the minister cracked a slightly funny joke during his sermon to which my group burst into laughter... No one was more shocked than the minister. It was a 'good escape' route for that pent up stifled laughter, however. I was never able to see a picture of Chuck Connors after that without thinking of that statue in the church.
I can't remember how I came across these people who were into 'the charismatic movement' of the Catholic church....but it was a 'vibrational match' that was meant to take place. That I know.
They came to visit me in my home one evening and asked me if I would like to attend this special conference of Charismatic Catholics that was to be held in Scotts Bluff, Nebraska. They told me of all kinds of miracles that took place during their 'meetings' which sounded as lively as any black church I had ever attended. Sure. Why not. They promised me it would something I would never forget. I didn't. Neither did Lori and Mike.
