I hardly ever get Sundays off. So that in itself was a blessing. I wasted a sunny San Francisco day laying in bed until 2:30 in the afternoon and enjoyed it. I went through every page of the Victoria's Secret Holiday 2008 catalog and window shopped the Anthropologie Fall 2008 catalog that had been dismissed by me since July.... or was it August? I ignored texts and had missed calls while layed on top of sheets, comforters, a quilt, and a red worn woven blanket my grandma had hand made before I was even born with my Daddy's name needle and threaded into the center. When I finally lifted myself out of bliss, I threw on a purple halter patterned dress with a purple patent belt, a long brown hooded cardigan that I used to hate three years ago, did one brush run through on my hair, didn't put on makeup, and chose the first black flats in reach, a pair of worn Cinderella round toed ones that are losing wear on the top that black shoe polish wont work and I had gotten on sale at Cathy Jean in Newport Beach's Fashion Island, and grabbed the soft leather Limited handbag packed full of what my guy friends say as "rocks". I left to hang out at Linda's store eating popcorn chicken and glurbing down milk teas. I hung around until the Niner game had ended knowing that my exit would be blocked in the meantime and I would have to take the side roads back home, which I prefer anyhow. I sat patiently against traffic on 3rd Street maneuvering my car through side roads and hills, away from the Niner faithfuls who were getting restless to flee the area, and into my neighborhood. I pulled up into my driveway, sat there listening to KMEL, backed out of the driveway, turned left then another left, to the Church of the Visitation.
Mass was more than halfway done. The parking lot wasn't full on the connected school playground and the street lights were dimmed. I got out and walked to the back of the church, passing by the side and hearing the choir sing another Hallelujah verse. The stained glass windows and the dance of the lit flames of the electronic candles, which you can light with the honorable donation of one dollar, made me feel like Esmeralda and a yearn to go into the House of God silently escalated. The unwashed bulletproof doors to the lobby I pulled open and then the familiar heavy church doors I braced. I haven't entered mass in a very long time. I slipped through the back, cordially waiting for the priest to finish his sermon before I had seated myself. To my left, a Knights of Columbus old man in the uniformed green jacket with the bearings on the back, looked over his shoulder to me. I nodded to him in response as a hello and bowed my head to show respect. He had smiled and looked back ahead to the priest. I can go ahead and seat myself and no need to get up is what it had meant, and he had acknowledged me for doing so. I dipped the tips of my fingers to the marble holdings of the cold Holy Water. How does it stay so cold? Bow head, sign of the cross. I crept forward silently, picked up a missilette on the back folded table, went towards the back pews, genuflect, and took a side aisle seat. Then I listened to Father.
