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12/19/2004: "Ding-dong"
The fourth Sunday in Advent. I got to the church at six-thirty this morning, when it was too dark to see my key to open the door, and I finally got home at something-past-six in the evening. In between, I prepared the sanctuary for worship, made the coffee, unlocked the doors, joked with the ushers, tested the microphones, started the tapes, salted the sidewalk, rang the churchbell, operated the lights, found the red tablecloth, held the baby, made more coffee, listened to complaints, emptied the trash, put away the silver, and locked the doors.
Then, I helped the bell choir move their bells, tables, cloths, music, stands, mallets and Santa Claus hats to the assisted-living complex, where they played a concert. I photographed the concert and went, briefly, to their Christmas party. I left after twenty minutes to goback to the church for the ecumenical Walk to Bethlehem. I unlocked the doors, lit the candles, calmed the pastor, got boxes for the songbooks, turned up the heat, kept a lookout for the pony, went next door to the Methodists to swipe a bulletin, let in the crowds, blew out the candles, talked to the lady in charge of costumes and crooks, locked the doors, put away the silver, had pizza with the youth bell-choir, and went home. Not to my home, but to the house-sit, where I fed the cats and went Home home. I feel like I've been beaten with cold, wet shoots of bamboo.
