The tunnel, the chapel and the wardrobe
Posted by Christopher Mc on Monday, April 6, 2009
Under: Family
Meep Meep Meep Meep Meep Meep Meep Meep Meep Meep Meep Meep Meeeeeeeeeep Meep-Meep ...
It's Sunday night, and there's no school tomorrow so I don't have to smooth (that's "iron" for those not in the know) uniforms or make lunches.
It was a very busy weekend, which was why I wasn't posting yesterday, though Mary was. Mary put her dummy in a large pink envelope with a letter to the Easter Bunny and posted it off - she actually said "it was hard to push out the envelope". I told her we could do some blue-sky thinking later, but she suggested pink. So the dummy is gone for good and she's now on her second night without it, though her bed has been strengthened by the presence of several more toys than usual. She was up in the wardrobe at about ten o'clock trying to find something for her dolly, Kate, to wear.
Speaking of wardrobes - this afternoon was spent building Michael's new wardrobe - now in white after yesterday's trip to Ikea, of which more in a moment. Managed to pull the same muscle I did last time - good grief is this what old age will be like? Michael was there to help which meant hammering and the electric screwdriver but not, "would you give me that over right now". So the room is complete, and easily the best bedroom in the house - we are all jealous. Now how to teach him how to climb out the skylight onto the roof in the event of an emegency without a) frightening him and making him paranoid, b) encouraging to climb out with no emergency.
Saturday was a very busy day, starting with a meeting of the National Council of the Secular Order of Discalced Carmelites at Avila, Dublin. Obviously I'll say nothing about the private discussions - but we did attend the public Mass in the, frankly, dreary new chapel. It reminds me of the studio RTE uses for its Sunday Masses. The ceiling is all stepped and full of lights like a concert hall stage, and filthy black from the lights. Lots of people enthuse about it but for me it is too small, though quite tall. The altar is tiny, with the result the missal was actually dangling over the edge. The tabernacle is okay for a modern one, but like so many stands alone and forlorn on a pillar (at least in the middle in an apse) which causes all sorts of practical difficulties - you want somewhere to put down the ciborium while you open the door.
We had communion under both species for a fairly large congregation which was fine. However a number of women self-intincted which is completely forbidden (No. 104 of "Redemptionis Sacramentum": "The communicant must not be permitted to intinct the host himself in the chalice, nor to receive the intincted host in the hand.") We had a fine example of why this is not allowed when one of the ladies knocked the chalice, spilling the Sacred Blood on the (beige) carpet. The extraordinary minister made a valiant effort to clean it up but the damage was done. My suggestion that the entire chapel be burnt in accordance with the rubrics was not well received.
The staff in Avila are lovely and we always get a nice lunch when we're there. The reception area is beautiful, with a little internal garden and decent wooden statues of the Blessed Virgin and the Child of Prague. It's much nicer than the chapel.
From there it was straight home. Forgot to mention coming via the tunnel for the first time. The tunnel was great I thought, though the time saved was squandered by having to sit behind the lady in front at the toll gate while she began the ghastly handbag search beloved of ladies of a certain type. Then I got through and accidently took the turn and ended up crossing the east link which I hadn't planned, ending up in Ringsend which I don't know at all - more time wasted with maps and wrong turns. The journey home less eventful, though I didn notice there are no signs, absolutely none, for the tunnel until you are about fifty feet from the toll gates. It's quite extraordinary.
Then home, collect Michael and head for Holywood for Ikea to change the wardrobe, and a delightul little meal in the the Ikea restaurant looking out over the Harbour George Best City of Belfast Airport. The Swedes may not know the difference between marriage and MSM, but they do know furniture, meatballs and some sort of banoffie pie made with Daim bars. As we arrived in the cafe, Michael's jaw dropped and he shouted "look at all the tarts". Luckily it was Ikea and not the Odyssey.
Patrick is a sensitive little soul, so he refused to should "crucify him, crucify him" at Mass today. Sweet. Of which, he's giving them up for the last week of Lent after taunting from someone on the street about not doing enough for Lent. I suggested he retaliate next time by asking when he was last at Mass.
And so to bed I think.
It's Sunday night, and there's no school tomorrow so I don't have to smooth (that's "iron" for those not in the know) uniforms or make lunches.
It was a very busy weekend, which was why I wasn't posting yesterday, though Mary was. Mary put her dummy in a large pink envelope with a letter to the Easter Bunny and posted it off - she actually said "it was hard to push out the envelope". I told her we could do some blue-sky thinking later, but she suggested pink. So the dummy is gone for good and she's now on her second night without it, though her bed has been strengthened by the presence of several more toys than usual. She was up in the wardrobe at about ten o'clock trying to find something for her dolly, Kate, to wear.
Speaking of wardrobes - this afternoon was spent building Michael's new wardrobe - now in white after yesterday's trip to Ikea, of which more in a moment. Managed to pull the same muscle I did last time - good grief is this what old age will be like? Michael was there to help which meant hammering and the electric screwdriver but not, "would you give me that over right now". So the room is complete, and easily the best bedroom in the house - we are all jealous. Now how to teach him how to climb out the skylight onto the roof in the event of an emegency without a) frightening him and making him paranoid, b) encouraging to climb out with no emergency.
Saturday was a very busy day, starting with a meeting of the National Council of the Secular Order of Discalced Carmelites at Avila, Dublin. Obviously I'll say nothing about the private discussions - but we did attend the public Mass in the, frankly, dreary new chapel. It reminds me of the studio RTE uses for its Sunday Masses. The ceiling is all stepped and full of lights like a concert hall stage, and filthy black from the lights. Lots of people enthuse about it but for me it is too small, though quite tall. The altar is tiny, with the result the missal was actually dangling over the edge. The tabernacle is okay for a modern one, but like so many stands alone and forlorn on a pillar (at least in the middle in an apse) which causes all sorts of practical difficulties - you want somewhere to put down the ciborium while you open the door.
We had communion under both species for a fairly large congregation which was fine. However a number of women self-intincted which is completely forbidden (No. 104 of "Redemptionis Sacramentum": "The communicant must not be permitted to intinct the host himself in the chalice, nor to receive the intincted host in the hand.") We had a fine example of why this is not allowed when one of the ladies knocked the chalice, spilling the Sacred Blood on the (beige) carpet. The extraordinary minister made a valiant effort to clean it up but the damage was done. My suggestion that the entire chapel be burnt in accordance with the rubrics was not well received.
The staff in Avila are lovely and we always get a nice lunch when we're there. The reception area is beautiful, with a little internal garden and decent wooden statues of the Blessed Virgin and the Child of Prague. It's much nicer than the chapel.
From there it was straight home. Forgot to mention coming via the tunnel for the first time. The tunnel was great I thought, though the time saved was squandered by having to sit behind the lady in front at the toll gate while she began the ghastly handbag search beloved of ladies of a certain type. Then I got through and accidently took the turn and ended up crossing the east link which I hadn't planned, ending up in Ringsend which I don't know at all - more time wasted with maps and wrong turns. The journey home less eventful, though I didn notice there are no signs, absolutely none, for the tunnel until you are about fifty feet from the toll gates. It's quite extraordinary.
Then home, collect Michael and head for Holywood for Ikea to change the wardrobe, and a delightul little meal in the the Ikea restaurant looking out over the Harbour George Best City of Belfast Airport. The Swedes may not know the difference between marriage and MSM, but they do know furniture, meatballs and some sort of banoffie pie made with Daim bars. As we arrived in the cafe, Michael's jaw dropped and he shouted "look at all the tarts". Luckily it was Ikea and not the Odyssey.
Patrick is a sensitive little soul, so he refused to should "crucify him, crucify him" at Mass today. Sweet. Of which, he's giving them up for the last week of Lent after taunting from someone on the street about not doing enough for Lent. I suggested he retaliate next time by asking when he was last at Mass.
And so to bed I think.
In : Family
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Catholic, Carmelite, Husband, Father, Reader of all sorts of books, Writer of occasional letters, Viewer of lots of TV and movies, Lover of tea, Hater of coffee. Anything I write is my own opionion and is not intended to represent the views of any organisation with which I have a connection. You can email me at "blog at live.ie" (replace the "at" with @). Don't be shy. To comment, click on the title of post. You have to include a name and email but fake ones work fine. Make sure there's an @ in the email.
