Communion/Sunday saying

Communion.  A.K.A. The Lord's Supper. At Mt. Calvary we celebrated the Lord's Supper once a month, the last Sunday of the month.  Communion was very special to me and I looked forward to those monthly "suppers."  I have to say that I was not permitted to partake until I had been baptized, and so for 10 cognizative years I watched as the elements were passed past me on those Sundays.

The church was very quiet during that part of the service, except for my father's recitation of Scripture.  And after everyone (except the children) had been served one element, dad would say, "This do in remembrance of Me.  Eat ye all of it."  And down would go the Matza, which he had cracked into tiny pieces between a paper napkin back at the house prior to the service. 

He also filled all those tiny cups with just a couple of ounces of grape juice.  And said:   "This do in remembrance of Me.  Drink ye all of it." 

I recall that communion set the church had.  The plates for the Matza were peuter and had a wonderful patina.  The juice rack was made of wood with holes in each tier (the church had three because there were three sections in the sanctuary) for the cups which held the juice.  And in the early years the cups were made of glass and mom had to wash them after each communion service.  In my last few years at the church they had switched over to plastic which could be pitched and no washing was required. 

I don't remember mom ever complaining about having to wash all those tiny glasses.  I know I did because I had to dry the things.  After drying them for several years and before we changed over to plastic, I tried to convince my mom that washing them and then letting them dry on a towel was more sanitary than my drying them and touching them with my grimy fingers.  I think I was about 10 or 11 years old when she finally succumbed to my logic and we would place those tiny glass recepticals on a kitchen towel, unside down, and they would air dry.  Then she would carefully place them into the wooden racks for the next month's Communion service.

I loved those days.  What can I say?  They were very, very special.

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Baby ring

I really should take a picture of what I'm talking about here. 

I woke up this a.m. and was vividly recalling a Sunday many years ago.  I was five or six years old.  And I was sitting in the back row of the church with my friends, Kathie Kenders, Linda Wallace, and Sue Youngblood.  Mrs. Youngblood was sitting right in front of this quartet of five-seven-year-olds and so we were behaving -- mostly.

I had/have a ring.  It was given to me by my grandmother Drexler shortly after I was born.  Of course I don't remember that particular event, and am just going on what my mom told me.

Anyway, it is/was a gold ring set with a small emerald.  I was only permitted to wear that ring on Sunday morning, and I had to ask permission prior to wearing it.  As soon as I got home from church I had to return it to its box -- a small ring box -- which resided in of all places, mom's money drawer.  That was a drawer in her dressing table in which she "safed" the weekly stash on which we lived.

Well, this particular Sunday, I decided to put the ring in my mouth.  No, I didn't swallow it.  I did however bit on it, and not realizing that gold is soft and if thin enough it will become damaged, I dented the bottom part of the ring.  I put a wrinkle in the roundness of the ring.  Not wanting my mother to know what I'd done, and feeling really awful about it, I put the ring away as soon as I got home.  Since the emerald side was showing and not the wrinkle I figured I was safe. 

But when the next Sunday came and I didn't request to wear my ring, I guess mom got suspicious.  She knew that every Sunday I wanted to wear that ring.  So she took it out of the box and found out what I had done.  Uh-oh!  No spanking, just a lecture (which was worse).

Good ending to story:  I was permitted to wear the ring every Sunday, I just had to promise to keep it out of my mouth.  Which I did. 

I wonder why that Sunday is so vivid in my mind right now.  Oh well.  I still have the ring, and it's still bent, but it doesn't fit any of my fingers any more. 

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Stupid, stupid, stupid

If I might quote my mother as she was sliding off the bed while she was trying to sit on the side of it in the last days of her life, laughing as she sagged to the floor:  "Stupid, stupid, stupid."  That's me.  I forgot to give you all a Sunday saying. 

Well, this week's saying is "Stupid, stupid, stupid."  And I was SSS because I forgot the Sunday saying saying. 

The saying, was made famous by my mother and we've been using it in our family ever since that day around 20 years ago when she made that statement, and while she was laughing we all got the giggles, and unfortunately were laughing so hard we couldn't help her get back up onto the bed until we were able to control our laughing.   (That would be Sue and I.)

So to you, Sue, and to me, and for mom -- remember when you forget to do something, do something wrong, just say:  "Stupid, stupid, stupid."

One more SSS moment in my life -- the day I left the brand new, expensive digital camera in the car in the parking lot, and we were getting on a boat to go to Panama when I remembered it.  The walk back to the parking garage was prohibitive for me, and I was hitting myself and yelling at myself (Stupid, stupid, stupid) for days until Alan decided we should buy a cheap digital camera on board ship so we would be able to get pictures in Panama and at the Canal.  I mean how many chances would I ever have to get to Panama and the Canal?  This one chance.  The SSS camera is now being used by grandchildren to take their various "event" pictures.

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Mt Calvary Union Church -- 100 years!

I just got the outline for the activities for the 100th anniversary of the Church.  It all begins on May 23, 2010, and hopefully as many Drexlers as possible will be there.  It will be a great family reunion if as many of us get there as want to.

The church had a Drexler attending or preaching for over 50 years, that's half of the life of the church so far!  And a couple of years ago I sent to the committee a copy of many of the pictures that my mom and dad had in their albums.  Most of the pictures were of vacation Bible school classes or Sunday school classes. 

All the Drexler children except for Mark, were married in this tiny church. 

Dad never took vacations and stayed at it until his health just wouldn't allow him to do the job any more.  Oh, he could have preached at every meeting that required a "message", but he couldn't live on his own any more, so he had to be moved to a place where he could be taken care of.

I wish I could spend the entire summer of 2010 in Runnemede because the activities will be scattered throughout that time. 

I have so much to be thankful for in regard to this church, mostly the people who attended and took the "preacher's kids" under their wings and taught us how to fly.

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Parking Wars

My new favorite program on mindless TV is Parking Wars. This will be very short.  I saw it today for the first time and A&E was running a PW marathon.  I'm hooked.  My favorite part, of course, is when they write the tickets in South Philly.  I love the way those people talk.  Just like me!

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The piano tuner

My father was very particular about our piano.  He had it tuned frequently.  By that I mean at least once a year.  And perhaps that's what one is supposed to do when they have a piano, I don't know.  At any rate, at least once a year the piano tuner came to our home.

His name was Lynn Atkins.  He was blind.  Yes, that's correct, blind!  His wife would drive him to our home, dad would meet him at the curb, and lead him into the living room, and set him on the piano bench.  The man was amazing.  He could take that piano apart.  He could repair broken strings.  He replaced felts.  And he could tune the piano.  I suppose that because he was blind his hearing was highly tuned and that made him a good piano tuner.  Daddy liked him. 

Back to the piano tuner.  He had a pitchfork (set at A) and he could begin going up and down the keys until the piano was tuned to perfection.

I think my father must have had an ear because he could tell if there was a problem with the piano and would call Mr. Atkins if he thought there was a problem. 

Mr. Atkins was a very nice man who talked with us kids a lot.  He never seemed to mind us running in and out and around him while he worked. 

He didn't live in Runnemede. I think he lived in Haddon Heights, or was it Barrington? Doesn't matter. I do remember that he and his wife came to church infrequently. Daddy was always telling him about Jesus. Mr. Atkins didn't think he needed the Lord because he lived a moral, upright life. Wasn't that enough? Of course, it wasn't.


Isn't is funny that I remember this man and his name?  Why?  What brings this to mind?  Today I'm getting this same  piano tuned for the first time in years.  Some repair work is needed, of course, and Mr. Blank (Bill) is beginning the tuning, and I hear the ping, ping, ping as he adjusts the strings.  I wonder why it is that piano tuners hit a note three times when they are tuning it?  Maybe I'll ask.

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Sunday sayings -- Judith...

This is truly a "Sunday" saying.  I was a preacher's kid.  I was not a sit still child.  That squirmy disease children have was not lost on me.  I have never been able to sit still, even now, I squirm.

And so when my father would call from the pulpit, in the middle of one of his sermons, "Judith!"  I knew I was in big trouble, and would get it when we got home.

I used to hate that!

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