From the last service

For Gogo's service, my first husband and I flew in the day of. We flew into Boston and rented a car, and between the late flight, the slow car-rental people, and his getting lost twice, we actually missed the service itself. I still feel bad about that.

Gogo was a Catholic, and one of the Thorpes up the hill had arranged for Sunday's Mass to be said in his honor. I went with Mimi (I don't remember why we were the only two) to the tiny Catholic church down by the river. The priest mis-pronounced our name. We sang hymns to guitar accompaniment. And then the priest commenced to give this insane sermon about how it is wrong of the Church not to allow people to mortify their flesh for God. That people should be allowed to flagellate themselves and wear hair shirts if they wanted.

Mimi and I walked out to the car.

"That was weird," she said.
"Gogo would have laughed his head off," I answered.
"Oh my, yes."