Traditions

I was some distressed, two weeks ago, to discover that I would not be permitted, due to the necessity of celebrating Mass in Spanish in Hill City, to participate in a tradition I had established with the Daniel Clan during my first two years of priesthood.  Until this year, it was my practice to go with them to view the happy couples from St. Thomas More High School parade down the Grand March in Tuxedos and Gowns for the annual atrocity known as prom.  If you have never attended a Grand March, you can have a similar experience by going to see the meat counter at your local grocer.  Really.  By combining all of the fabric used to construct all of the dresses worn to the prom, one might perhaps fashion a suitably modest dress for a single girl.  It is as though they have each purchased a bottle of Tylenol and fashioned their gowns from the cotton swab beneath the cap.  Yeah.  Then we go to observe the prom-goers from Central and Stevens High Schools.  It is even worse.  Then we go back to the Daniel home for a drink and try to forget all the nakedness and the foolish boys wearing basketball shoes with tuxedos. 

Anyway, I digress.  The initial turmoil of announcing my new assignment having passed, I realize that I have developed a new tradition.  When reassigned to a new parish, I also find myself going on some adventure.  Last year it was a boundary waters trip.  This year, I am off to Poland.  By this time tomorrow I should find myself wedged into what some people claim is a seat and hurtling over the Atlantic Ocean while nervously fingering my Rosary and praying the person next to me does not speak to me.

To tell how this trip came about would require more effort that i am willing to expend at this already late hour, but it seems to sufficient to say that I had to be coaxed into it.  Were it not for the promise of cheap clerical apparel, I would likely not be going.  At it is, Tuesday morning will find me touring Auschwitz (can one use the word "touring" in such a context?) and praying with the Black Madonna of Czestochowa.  I fear I might die (another common theme of my adventures) while driving tot he far north of the Country to visit a young lady from the area in a convent up there.  

Mostly, though, I intend to eat, sample vodka, and not think too much about moving.  I plan to be on Facebook, and will have access to my Gmail if you need to reach me.  I hope to prepare a full commentary upon my return to the states.  Stay tuned.