I loved Sundays. Everyone in our farm house bustled around getting ready to attend Mass. Those of us who didn’t do barn chores had to be out of the bathroom by the time Daddy and my brother Billy were ready to use it. Mom had me dress first. It felt nice to be wearing my best clothing and have my usually tangled hair neatly combed.
Sitting quietly on the davenport, I waited, watched and listened. My sisters were bickering over something. The shirt one of my brothers planning to wear was in the laundry basket, so Mom quickly ironed his other nice shirt.
When Daddy came out of the bathroom he had a bit of toilet paper stuck to his chin where he’d nicked himself while shaving. Betty flounced into the room with her full skirt and sat down. Mary rummaged in the hall closet for shoe polish. Daddy, Billy and Casper were the first ones ready to go.
Instead of taking care of herself, Mom spent most of the morning doing last minute things for Daddy and her seven children. Most Sunday mornings she was the last person to be ready.
There was one final preparation for attending Mass. Women had to wear something on their heads in church. For the weekday school Masses, girls wore scarves tied under our chins, but on Sundays we wore hats to church. I put on a small, ruffled curvette. Mary donned a big flower trimmed bucket style. Mom put on the new black hat she’d bought a few days before. Daddy glanced at her and witlessly commented, “Where’re the hounds and horses?” Continue reading