The faint aroma of Honey Baked ham filtered into the car from the trunk where I placed a one pound package of that delectable treat. When I got to work I leaned into John’s office and once I could see he was not on the phone and after he greeted me, I told him I had purchased my first pound of the ham. He had given everyone in the office a gift card from there for Christmas. He grinned asking if it was good and I said I would have some for dinner, but it smelled wonderful. Although I had driven past that store many times I had never gone into it, so I found it interesting. I had not realized they sold sandwiches as well as smaller portions of the sliced ham, not just the full ham that people line up around the block to buy for Easter and other special occasions.
Funny how easily the taste buds are aroused considering I had just finished a fine lunch of grilled trout with baked sweet potato, corn and green beans at Cracker Barrel with Doris Ann.
There was enough snow on the driveway when I left for Church this evening that the car left tracks as it rolled out onto the street. I took a place in the pew right behind Mary and we chatted a bit after Mass. It has turned out that our new pastor, Father John, is assigned the dual role of being pastor at St. Therese as well as our church, until the diocese can find someone to take over one of the jobs. He is young, but responsibility for two churches may age him before his time. We agreed that there seemed to be fewer people than usual at the service. Mary is concerned that since we have to share Father John that St. Therese may eventually survive while our church gets closed. Perhaps the missing people followed him to the 4:30 Mass at the other parish.
On my way out the door I gathered up the last of the still lovely large white poinsettia plants that had been left under a note that said “Help Yourselves.” All the local Catholic churches give away the flowers that are symbolic of Christmas after that season is officially ended. As I stepped out into the night, the wind wasted no time whipping around me and sending some of the broad white petals airborne to unknown destinations as I forged on toward my car. A couple of times I had to stop and stand like a tree against the cold air that would have carried me, plant and all if I were at all frail, at least down to the ground. The priest who had come to say the Mass did not pull away until I managed to tuck the flower into the trunk and open my driver’s door.