RELIGIOUS EXPERIENCES:
I was raised in the Judeo-Christian flavor of religiosity. Most of the influence came by way of Grandma Horn. She attended the First Christian Church. Occasionally I would attend with her. We didn't attend Sunday school because we arrived and left with Grandma. '
About once a month or so, Communion was passed among the members. Communion was served on a large round silver tray. The Host consisted of small square tan buttons and the wine was served in a couple dozen small wine glass each sitting in a hole in the tray. The glasses jiggled and the wine sloshed about. I asked Grandma once if I could have some and was told no. I have since been puzzled why she did not pursue my question with perhaps a query if God had spoken to me, but she never did.
Each Sunday the pastor would ask if anyone wanted to come forward for salvation. I don't remember seeing anyone do that. I did attend a formal baptism once. The baptismal font was a large concrete tub in back of the alter behind a curtain. There was a large cross with light bulbs on it. I did wonder what would happen if the cross fell into the water while someone was being baptized.
Mom would enthusiastically enroll me and my siblings in any and all Church Summer Camp. These ran about a week and we were usually taken there by bus, thus freeing the parents for a chance at connubial bliss and to allow the bus driver the sense of Christian duty satisfied with the potential salvation of our tiny heathen souls. All I remember are session of making pasta art.
One time when I was a teenager, I was tasked with taking my three younger sisters to Summer Church Camp near Riggins, Idaho. Again, transport via bus. I remember one of the ladies asking me about my children. I was aghast and told her they were my sisters!!
I attended an Easter Sunrise Service in the city park once. The Kiwanis were making pancakes. It was cold.
When I and my first husband got engaged, we attended marriage classes in order to be married in the Catholic Church. We managed the marriage and a few midnight masses. Charlie was born and he was baptized Catholic. When ever we were at the ranch, I went to the little church in Philo for services. They did not have Sunday School, all children participated and those unruly ones would get taken outside.
The year I worked in Dillingham, Alaska, my boss lady was invited to a Seventh Day Adventist Ladies retreat. She wanted me to go with her. I had a horrible cold and was coughing my head off but I gulped down some Alka-Seltzer Colds Medicine, took some cough drops, packed for the weekend and away we went. We parked on the shore of Lake Aleknagik and a man in a small tug boat pushing a barge helped us on board with luggage and supplies for the weekend. He was 90 years old and told the most corny jokes. I loved him. We putt putted to the middle of the lake to a small island that held a very nice house. We all off loaded and entered the house and got situated.
Cough, cough, put on mask. It was a two day event consisting of singing, prayers and a guest speaker. Cough, cough, mask. By the second day, I was really miserable. I was very surprised when the guest speaker asked me if I wished for her to pray for me. I cursed silently and nodded in agreement. She anointed my forehead with oil and prayed over me for what seemed like the longest time. I thanked her when she finished. After that I had to stifle my cough and pretend I was cured so she wouldn't feel bad. That is how miracle cures work, I figure.
The only other religious events have been funerals. Those are never fun but my Mom's funeral was a bit more lighthearted than others. Most of us got up to speak briefly. When it was my turn I got up and told everyone that I had been thinking hard about what to say because I wanted to tell a story from when I was a little girl. I told about when Dad had purchased a small tract home on Clover Drive that ran behind the Veteran's Home. We lived there long enough for me to attend Sunday School in some generic Christian Church where we listened to Bible stories and they were fund raising.
Also I was enrolled in Brownie Scouts and Mom volunteered to help at a week long day camp. We made crafts, there was heavy involvement of glue and macaroni and we sang songs. Mom taught us to sing, "Daisy, Daisy, Tell Me True" or "Bicycle Built For Two" and other current songs then popular on the Sunday evening broadcast of Walt Disney. I concluded by repeating a story she had told me.
It happened one school morning. It was very busy, getting the three girls and one brother off to school. Phillip needed to go to baseball practice after school. One of the girls needed a written absence excuse for yesterday and they needed to get breakfast done, make sure everyone was clean, dressed out the door in a flurry, much babble and scurrying. Phew!
The phone rang about 9 am. She answered hello.
"This is Cleo Adams, the school nurse. Am I speaking to Mrs. Baseball?"
I never did learn to read music, so the Hymnal was not much help when it came to singing. It is my opinion that while God is enjoying the chorus that human ears are not meant to enjoy the singing. I only ever heard one person singing beautifully and that was at a funeral for a friends mother, it was lovely. Everything else has had to be professionally produced to be close to be appreciated. Later on in life I found that I enjoy Gospel music. Thank God for enthusiastic black choirs. White people generally cannot carry a restrained constipated tune.
I was raised in the Judeo-Christian flavor of religiosity. Most of the influence came by way of Grandma Horn. She attended the First Christian Church. Occasionally I would attend with her. We didn't attend Sunday school because we arrived and left with Grandma. '
About once a month or so, Communion was passed among the members. Communion was served on a large round silver tray. The Host consisted of small square tan buttons and the wine was served in a couple dozen small wine glass each sitting in a hole in the tray. The glasses jiggled and the wine sloshed about. I asked Grandma once if I could have some and was told no. I have since been puzzled why she did not pursue my question with perhaps a query if God had spoken to me, but she never did.
Each Sunday the pastor would ask if anyone wanted to come forward for salvation. I don't remember seeing anyone do that. I did attend a formal baptism once. The baptismal font was a large concrete tub in back of the alter behind a curtain. There was a large cross with light bulbs on it. I did wonder what would happen if the cross fell into the water while someone was being baptized.
Mom would enthusiastically enroll me and my siblings in any and all Church Summer Camp. These ran about a week and we were usually taken there by bus, thus freeing the parents for a chance at connubial bliss and to allow the bus driver the sense of Christian duty satisfied with the potential salvation of our tiny heathen souls. All I remember are session of making pasta art.
One time when I was a teenager, I was tasked with taking my three younger sisters to Summer Church Camp near Riggins, Idaho. Again, transport via bus. I remember one of the ladies asking me about my children. I was aghast and told her they were my sisters!!
I attended an Easter Sunrise Service in the city park once. The Kiwanis were making pancakes. It was cold.
When I and my first husband got engaged, we attended marriage classes in order to be married in the Catholic Church. We managed the marriage and a few midnight masses. Charlie was born and he was baptized Catholic. When ever we were at the ranch, I went to the little church in Philo for services. They did not have Sunday School, all children participated and those unruly ones would get taken outside.
The year I worked in Dillingham, Alaska, my boss lady was invited to a Seventh Day Adventist Ladies retreat. She wanted me to go with her. I had a horrible cold and was coughing my head off but I gulped down some Alka-Seltzer Colds Medicine, took some cough drops, packed for the weekend and away we went. We parked on the shore of Lake Aleknagik and a man in a small tug boat pushing a barge helped us on board with luggage and supplies for the weekend. He was 90 years old and told the most corny jokes. I loved him. We putt putted to the middle of the lake to a small island that held a very nice house. We all off loaded and entered the house and got situated.
Cough, cough, put on mask. It was a two day event consisting of singing, prayers and a guest speaker. Cough, cough, mask. By the second day, I was really miserable. I was very surprised when the guest speaker asked me if I wished for her to pray for me. I cursed silently and nodded in agreement. She anointed my forehead with oil and prayed over me for what seemed like the longest time. I thanked her when she finished. After that I had to stifle my cough and pretend I was cured so she wouldn't feel bad. That is how miracle cures work, I figure.
The only other religious events have been funerals. Those are never fun but my Mom's funeral was a bit more lighthearted than others. Most of us got up to speak briefly. When it was my turn I got up and told everyone that I had been thinking hard about what to say because I wanted to tell a story from when I was a little girl. I told about when Dad had purchased a small tract home on Clover Drive that ran behind the Veteran's Home. We lived there long enough for me to attend Sunday School in some generic Christian Church where we listened to Bible stories and they were fund raising.
Also I was enrolled in Brownie Scouts and Mom volunteered to help at a week long day camp. We made crafts, there was heavy involvement of glue and macaroni and we sang songs. Mom taught us to sing, "Daisy, Daisy, Tell Me True" or "Bicycle Built For Two" and other current songs then popular on the Sunday evening broadcast of Walt Disney. I concluded by repeating a story she had told me.
It happened one school morning. It was very busy, getting the three girls and one brother off to school. Phillip needed to go to baseball practice after school. One of the girls needed a written absence excuse for yesterday and they needed to get breakfast done, make sure everyone was clean, dressed out the door in a flurry, much babble and scurrying. Phew!
The phone rang about 9 am. She answered hello.
"This is Cleo Adams, the school nurse. Am I speaking to Mrs. Baseball?"
"Cleo, I didn't" Mom shrieked! The stories told after that were pretty good as well.
I never did learn to read music, so the Hymnal was not much help when it came to singing. It is my opinion that while God is enjoying the chorus that human ears are not meant to enjoy the singing. I only ever heard one person singing beautifully and that was at a funeral for a friends mother, it was lovely. Everything else has had to be professionally produced to be close to be appreciated. Later on in life I found that I enjoy Gospel music. Thank God for enthusiastic black choirs. White people generally cannot carry a restrained constipated tune.
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