Seven
The next day, Friday, was a busy one. In the morning, I visited the hospital and gave communion to some parishioners who were there, then went over to the nursing home and did the same thing. After mass, I had meetings with three parishioners. The evening was taken up with a facilities committee meeting. The discussion of painting the classroom areas took up more time than it should have, I thought, and would have been over much sooner had Glenda not voiced the strong opinion that the rooms didn’t need to be painted, that they had been painted five years ago, and we really should wait until Father Anthony came back so he could weigh in.
“What she means is,” one of the committee members whispered to me, “is so he can agree with her.”
“Does that happen a lot,” I had asked.
He nodde
