Fuenteovejuna did it

End-of-year dream.

I dreamed last night that I was picking out flautas to fill a giant to-go container in Guadalajara. I stopped at 2.5 kilos (5.5 lbs) when other customers started grumbling about the gringo buying all the place had.

I ended up walking through a gift shop while munching on them looking for Brian and complaining, “why did I buy all these flautas if he’s not going to help me eat them, and I forgot the 2L Pepsi.”

Then I woke up in Greensboro disoriented. It made no sense in a lovely way.

I remember seeing a letter in the local newspaper when I was a teenager (age 15 ~ 1974). A distant “career/professional” couple was considering a move and wanted people to write and convince them to move to Greensboro. I took out a sheet of paper and wrote the following: “If this is the way you choose a place to live, please move somewhere else.”

I must have been auditioning for net forums before the net was around.

For a number of years, my mother insisted that we go to Catholic mass at OLG (Our Lady of Grace) on Christmas Eve to honor my brother who was in the process of becoming Catholic when he died. I would not choose to go to a mass on my own, but it helped my non-Catholic mother to process, I thought it was an OK way to honor my brother and the wishes of my mother, and I can get through a mass OK even though that religion is not my thing.

There are many things that would prevent me from ever being Catholic, but I take comfort in that at OLG, they took real good care of my brother, and they knew the whole nine yards about him, the whole kit and caboodle.

To me, “not my thing” doesn’t mean it’s not valid. I can respect.

This is my holiday homily. I rarely do them. I usually just yuck it up.