In The Pews
It was late summer when I first settled in to this place that would be my home for many years.
The lingering heat had made people mellow, they had conveniently forgotten blizzards, ice storms, sub-zero temperatures, blocked drive ways and
They were nice and welcoming.
I sought out the church I “belonged” to among the numerous congregations, finding it amusing how differing affiliations could be cramped into a
needle head on a world map; paying my first visit on a sunny morning with promise of late thunder storms.
Finding it pleasant, ordinary and comforting I returned the following Sunday. Plumpt down on an empty seat far from any one else not wanting to
violate the silent code of “This is my seat and my pew”
In the “Old Days” there were restricted pews, with family names written on the ends, on fanciful plaques.
An elderly woman in green that matched her eyes huddled towards me, smiling. in a brittle old lady voice she asked me if I would mind if she had my
seat, because it had been hers for so many years.
Not wanting to offend, she had such a sweet smile, I moved over, she sat down, grazing my hand lightly in gratitude.
The following Sunday, I decided to sit a little further away, it is an arduous task to settle into a new church, one shouldn't make waves, so to
She walked again down the pew and again asked me if I could relieve my seat, thinking nothing of it other than she was old and forgetful, I relented.
The third Sunday I chose a seat as far from the others as possible. Down the pew she came, smiling asking the same question “Could you move, I
always sit here?”
Sunday after Sunday this little old very nice lady followed me around the church so I came to the conclusion she had dementia and had become obsessed
It was no big deal, we talked a little about weather and what nots. Oddly in hindsight I recall her always being “behind” me in the communion
By late fall I had come to converse with several members and they asked if I would like to participate in their weekly fund-drive meetings.
We sat around a giant assembly of tables laden with crafts and all sorts of food. It sounded like a chicken coop until one woman with brilliant eyes
“Let us welcome our new-comer” All eyes were on me. I thanked them and questions rained down.
“How do you like it here?” a persistent voice asked.
“Well, it very peaceful and beautiful, but there is one thing I find a little odd. There is a little old lady always dressed in green, who keeps
telling me I am sitting in her spot, no matter where I sit”
“Don't get me wrong, I like her, she is so sweet and gentle, I just find it odd, perhaps she has dementia?”
Every one stared at me, silent. Then they broke out in chatter. “She is here again” “Why does she keep this up” “She is such a nuisance”
I forced my voice “Who is this, what are you talking about?”
A scratchy voice belonging to a dignified old woman said with clarity “If you must know it is Mrs. Green, she has been dead for fifteen years now
but insist on her mischief”
Epilogue. I came to know Mrs. Green very well, she had some rather interesting tales to tell.
Thank you. Please feel free to comment on errors.
edit on 29-7-2019 by WalkInSilence because: (no reason given)
29-7-2019 by WalkInSilence because: (no reason given)
edit on 29-7-2019 by WalkInSilence because: because i can