... There is even a supply of cushions on hand for those who find wooden pews too uncomfortable. ...
When I was a very young child a rather elderly (or so it seemed) woman always left her pillow on the rear pew at the conclusion of the service. No one ever bothered it, Mrs. K's pillow remained in the church until she died.
At her age and condition Mrs. K's housekeeping was none too good. My mother's sister visited while on vacation during WW2. My mother, the pastor's wife, took her sister along when visiting Mrs. K. My mother drank the juice Mrs. K offered, my mother's sister entered into our family's lore when she poured her juice into the flowers while Mrs. K's back was turned.
P. S. I am now older than Mrs. K was at time of her death.
Eugene Crowner
More than a decade ago my semi-shut-ins included a feisty old farmer who was bi-lingual, fluent Pennsylvania Dutch being the other language. Most likely English was his second language.
He would supply me with English walnuts from his trees...and one time, with some homemade wine. "Here's something to use in Church!" he said with a grin. I placed the container of dark, frothy liquid carefully between the seats of the car.
By the time I'd made it the six miles or so home the container looked like the proverbial tempest in a teapot. I had stopped at the end of my lane to retrieve the newspaper. I
knew that this wouldn't be fit for Church use. Being careful to hold the lid of the container away from me I headed gingerly to a groundhog hole nearby. The lid shot off like a champagne cork. The seething contents went into the burrow.
It was years before that burrow was occupied again.
Old Raymond never knew what happened---but that story was one that I shared in his Requiem homily years later.
