This week's Monday Diary is probably going to be a less humorous than normal. The story that I had been thinking about telling for a spell on second examination is probably one best forgotten by history so the "punch line" of sorts is cut off.
One of the great things about the St. Sebastian parish campus is the fore site of the founder Monsignor Zwisler. Though the buildings went up over the course of about 30 or so years, it was laid out in such a way that the campus has a nice look to it. It doesn't look like every so many years someone decided that another building was needed so the plunked another one down of the latest architectural style.
The campus is on 8 acres over three city blocks. The zip code line runs down the center of the parish so you have to be careful when sending us a letter.
What makes the campus interesting also makes it difficult from time to time. Those most frustrated are visitors to the parish. Almost every summer, while outside doing something around the parish, I run into someone who looks something like this:
Because of this we started a campaign a couple of years ago to place directional signage around the campus to help people navigate. You know what? Sings are expensive! Nine signs have gone up so far (2 of 3 stages) and it seems to be keeping screaming banshees at bay. And that makes for much more pleasant walks with the dog.
It also makes for a long walk if you have to visit someone in another building. Only the strong make it from the church to donut Sunday. The rest perish somewhere along the long trail from the church to Z-Hall. Donuts go quickly too. People work up quite an appetite taking the trek from one end of the block to the other.
We started the Lenten parish work out this morning. I THOUGHT IT WAS FREEZING OUTSIDE and so didn't want to walk from the rectory all the way down to the gym in my shorts. Having driven, considerable red hot coals have been heaped on my head for driving to get exercise when I live on the grounds.
You can tell when we have a substitute paper deliverer. We can't find the paper. It's here. We just can't find it. Usually a turn around the rectory and Church will local the errant paper. This past week it was well hidden and I waisted a good part of my breakfast time scouting for it.
It was at the convent door, which, in retrospect, makes sense if one is unfamiliar with our buildings.
One time I woke up in the middle of the night and looked out my window. There were a whole bunch of policemen standing in the front yard of the rectory. I got dressed and headed outside. The officer said, in grave sincerity, "Father, I gotta tell you. I like Protestant calls much better than Catholic ones."
Cautiously I said, "Uhuh . . . "
"We got a phone call that there was a door open here. When we go to a Protestant church we usually only have to check one or two doors. We've been here twenty minutes checking doors."
But I love it.