My grandfather wanted his own private fiefdom out on the great spread of farmland that he had acquired. To that end (and to many other ends, I suppose), he built and had consecrated his own little chapel, connected to his house by a covered walkway.
Stone. Carved woodwork on the small pews. Three windows with stained-glass saints representing the name-sakes of my father’s two sisters. My eyes traced the lead and the glass every Sunday as I waited out the quick mass. I had memorized the windows, but today, I can barely call them to mind.
Quick mass: we had a priest or two, lent by the diocese. They all said the mass at top speed. My mother always preferred a priest who could say Mas in under twenty minutes, sermon included.
You could fit twenty people in the chapel if there was a good reason for it, like a wedding, my parents were married there. I was married there. And in his time, my father was laid out there for his funeral mass. They had to remove two rows of pews on the right had side of the chapel to fit the coffin in. And that was also the day my son was baptized — a step that I hadn’t the mental strength to resist at the time.
Now playing on iTunes: I Wonder (2:14 Am) from the album “Nuspirit Helsinki” by Nuspirit Helsinki
white pebble 