Well, I’m home and I have to say that I enjoyed this little time away from work, Vegas, etc.

The first thing I want to do is thank all the guest bloggers who wrote in my blog - all the posts were different and each person brought their own style of writing. The one thing that all the posts had in common were that they were “AWSOME”

To the guest bloggers - thank you all for a great job. I’m lucky to have friends with so much talent to call upon when I need them.

The guest readers who came from other blogs I hope you continue to visit and that you find something worthwhile “around these here parts” (sorry, I just got back from Texas and it takes a few days to lose the accent.

Well, that said - here is a little post about my vacation:

I’ve mentioned my fire and brimstone, you’re bound to go to hell Southern Baptist Preaching Grandfather, but as far as on my mom’s side of the family the religious beliefs are completely different. On my mom’s side of the family they are split - half the family is strict Roman Catholic, while the other half is Methodist. The reason I bring this up is because the whole reason for this trip - this vacation was for my Aunt and Uncle’s forty-fifth wedding anniversary celebrations. Originally, they had planned on a big fiftieth celebration but recently my aunt was in the hospital with heart troubles - there aren’t too many things like a quadruple bypass that makes you realize you’re only here for a limited time, so they decided to have a big forty-fifth anniversary and since most of the family was going to be in town anyway we’d all get together and have a huge family reunion party the following day.

The church service was a nice Catholic service and my aunt looked beautiful in here cream colored, beaded dress. Later I would hear her say that she didn’t want to wear that dress because if you looked closely you could see the top of her open heart surgery scar - but the truth is I didn’t notice it at all, but then again, I’m not in the habit of looking at any of my aunt’s cleavage - that’s just creepy and so wrong.

I walked in the church, a little hesitant to dip my fingers in the holy water, afraid that it would boil over in the little silver dish and burn me - it’s been a long time since I’ve been to church, much less to Catholic Church. The water didn’t boil as I dipped my fingers in it and the earth didn’t open up and swallow me, so I made the sign of the cross and walked over the threshold.

The first person I saw was my cousin Sarah “Hey Pee-wee” (They still call me “Pee-wee” when I go back to Texas) “The church didn’t crumble when you came in, but I thought I felt it sway a little bit.” I laughed a little as I made my way toward my cousin Marisol and her family because I was thinking the same thing.

My cousin Marisol stood up and gave me a big hug as I came up next to her. We sat down and waited for the ceremony to start. Marisol looked at me and asked in her quiet church voice, “Are you wearing Croc’s to your uncle and aunt’s forty-fifth wedding ceremony?”

I looked slowly down at my feet expecting, hoping to see those black, hard, squish your toes together and hurt your feet church shoes that I used to have to wear as a kid, but I knew I wouldn’t find those shoes. I would find my faithful, ,keep your feet from smelling, big, ugly, plastic shoes with holes all over the top of them. “Uh… yep, I’m wearing my Crocs.”

“You’re not supposed to wear those kind of shoes to church”

“what do you mean by ‘those kind’ of shoes? Are you racially profiling my Crocs?” I was just being silly but it seemed like something I should say.

“I’m just saying that you’re not supposed to wear Crocs to church. This is the House of The Lord…and it’s not respectful to wear those kinds of shoes.”

“Come on, do you really think God cares what kind of shoes I wear to church and besides if it’s His house then you shouldn’t worry too much about it. I bet He’s just happy and shocked to see me here.’

“But…”

My cousin didn’t get a chance to get her “but” out before The Father and his entourage started walking down the aisle signaling for everyone to stand up.

I looked up and said a quick “thank you Big Guy” then stood up with everyone else. I had forgotten how much sitting, standing and kneeling there was in a Catholic service. It was almost like a kickboxing class - sit, kneel, stand, kick, kick uppercut, jab, jab. We did about an hour of church aerobic: sit, kneel, stand and do it all over again - and the it was time for what I used to think was the coolest and strangest, creepiest thing about the church when I was a kid ,,, it was time for The Eucharist. When I was a kid and went to church with my aunt I used to think it was cool to take the body of Christ and drink his blood - as a kid I loved that melt in your mouth wafer and that drink of juice, it was kind of like a little snack and after all that sitting, kneeling, and standing I could use a snack.

Everyone stood up and formed a line for The Eucharist, but I walked to the front of the church because I wanted to make sure and get a picture of my aunt and uncle taking the body of Christ and drinking his blood. After I took the picture I started to get in line for the melt in your mouth wafer and juice, but as I watched person after person take the body of Christ and drink His blood I decided I would pass on it because by the time I got to the front of the line it would be more backwash than actual Blood of Christ

The Father spoke about the union of marriage and how my aunt and uncle had been strong enough to stay married for so long when so many other couples could not make it through the first few years. He talked about the family they had created and the friends they had made through the years. They exchanged rings and POW! Just like that they had renewed their vows. The church was full and everyone wanted to hug and congratulate the wedding couple. I wanted to get the diner and the reception, after all that sitting, kneeling and standing I was ready for some eating.