I can’t say exactly when she showed up. Some months ago. She is easily a foot taller than me. Her platinum blond hair swoops into an unnatural curl at her shoulder, like a 1950’s cartoon character. She dresses like a smaller, younger woman. My mother, who had some pretty specific if not capricious fashion rules, would have commented that her outfits are inappropriate for a woman her age, which I guess to be about 60 or so.
Something about her has made me, the person most likely to approach a stranger at church, shy away. It could be her stature, which I find a little socially intimidating. It could be that she doesn’t hang out to drink coffee and socialize after the service. I still don’t know her name, which is also unusual for me, a congregational busy body. At some point, she joined the choir. She is the only female baritone, and she stands in the back row, towering over her male counterparts.
I noticed her weeks before I ever laid eyes on her. Her deep voice rises over the rest of the worshipers. And most noticably, her voice lags one syllable behind them, like an echo. It’s most noticeable during the recitation portions of the service, such as the Lord’s Prayer. Our father father. Who art in Heaven. Heaven. Hallowed be thy name name.
I have brought this up with one of my church lady friends, and we both find it hysterical. In fact, Penny and I can no longer sit in the same pew because it gives us a fit of the giggles every time. In fact, I can’t even look at her during the Lord’s Prayer Prayer, or the Apostles Creed Creed. Both seem like inappropriate times to laugh during church.
I finally had my first personal encounter with the large, echoing woman this week. We talked about the weather, and about comfortable shoes. She’s been attending church for so long, it seemed too late to introduce myself. I wonder how it is she can sing in unison with the choir but can’t pray in unison with the congregation.
Something about her has made me, the person most likely to approach a stranger at church, shy away. It could be her stature, which I find a little socially intimidating. It could be that she doesn’t hang out to drink coffee and socialize after the service. I still don’t know her name, which is also unusual for me, a congregational busy body. At some point, she joined the choir. She is the only female baritone, and she stands in the back row, towering over her male counterparts.
I noticed her weeks before I ever laid eyes on her. Her deep voice rises over the rest of the worshipers. And most noticably, her voice lags one syllable behind them, like an echo. It’s most noticeable during the recitation portions of the service, such as the Lord’s Prayer. Our father father. Who art in Heaven. Heaven. Hallowed be thy name name.
I have brought this up with one of my church lady friends, and we both find it hysterical. In fact, Penny and I can no longer sit in the same pew because it gives us a fit of the giggles every time. In fact, I can’t even look at her during the Lord’s Prayer Prayer, or the Apostles Creed Creed. Both seem like inappropriate times to laugh during church.
I finally had my first personal encounter with the large, echoing woman this week. We talked about the weather, and about comfortable shoes. She’s been attending church for so long, it seemed too late to introduce myself. I wonder how it is she can sing in unison with the choir but can’t pray in unison with the congregation.
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