The Passage of Time

On the Feast of the Epiphany (the day the wise men found Baby Jesus), there is this very awesome morsel in the liturgy wherein a cantor gets up and "sings" the dates of the feasts and fasts for the coming liturgical year. (The Catholic church year starts the first Sunday of Advent. There are 4 weeks of Advent and then Christmastide so we obviously know what we are doing for those first months of the cycle. But heading into Ordinary Time we get this dandy little proclaimation to let us know what else is coming up. Like a coming attractions blurb, sung on three notes). Anyway, I love this little bit and sat eagerly, all poised and excited.

Then he sang that "Ash Wednesday, the beginning of the Lenten sea-son" (I can totally hear him singing that) was on February 6. HELLO? Consider. Epiphany is January 6. So this year, having just finished Christmas, we get one month of down time and it's 6 weeks of Lent? Wow.

With Ester being a movable feast it sometimes happens that Lent is early. In fact, Lent was early the year The Child was born. She was baptised at 10 days old because Lent was a'comin' and baptisms aren't typically celebrated in Lent and we didn't want to wait until Eastertide. (No, not because we thought she would die and go to hell. We don't believe that. It was because the Cathedral was going to close for renovations and we'd be worshipping in the gym across the street and we wanted her baptism to be in the same actual physical place where we were married). So anyway, there she was, the youngest baby to be baptised in Cathedral history but you know what? Her baptism anniversary is Feb. 6. Which means that as early as Lent was that year, this year it's even earlier!

The fundamental impact of this information was that I had to quick send out evites for Carnevale and start planning a menu before the Christmas leftovers were all gone.

In other "my how time flies" news:

1) The Child will be 14 in 11 days. (High School Musical theme for the party. Of course).

b) On the weekend I will be going to the Portland area for the service of a family friend who passed last week. He'll be getting his own post later but last night I was thinking about it and trying to wrap my mind around it. "Uncle" Gibby and his wife "Auntie" Nan are some of Dame Judi and Sean's oldest friends. We met when I was a sophomore in highschool. See? Long time. Now, I don't know if it's true or just the way my mind works but the last time I saw Gib and Nan, they seemed completely unchanged to me. Of course, that's sorta how I view Sean and Judi, too. Yeah, they are getting older. I'm getting older so they must be, right? And there's a bit more grey in their hair, perhaps. But really, unchanged. Still young and vital, as far as I can tell. (They will laugh at that characterisation but serioulsy, they are both now in their 70s and you wouldn't believe it to look at them or talk to them. See, youthful).

And I don't know if my similar assessments of Gib and Nan are just because they always "were" so I still see them that way or if they too were immune from that "getting ancient" thing but the point is, I was trying to think how old Uncle Gibby was and surely he was in his 70s, which sounds so much older than how I think of him.

Anytime, I've been thinking about his memorial service, which will be held (I believe) in the church we attended when I was in high school, a place I haven't revisited since I was in college. Not a ton of good memories, what with the whole PK thing, and I never really felt a burning desire to go back to the scene of so much angst and humiliation. (And yeah, it actually WAS that bad). But this is different. It's not about me. It's about honoring personal history and supporting a dearly loved family.

But I find myself wondering if I'll recognize anyone, besides Auntie Nan, of course. I think of my peers from that time and imagine who might be in attendance. We're all older. I don't think I've changed that much. Well, actually, I have. Frankly, I'm way more attractive now than I was then, which is a perversely comforting thought. But I am older. Will I be recognized? Will I know anyone else? Or will I have to stick close to Dame Judi, who has been in much more contact with that group of people, waiting for her whispered prompts so that I don't look like a complete idiot when someone comes up to greet us? Funny thing to think about, really, given how much a part of my life those people were once upon a time.

I really should get my hair done before the weekend.