It is, in fact, still snow/raining. Not much in the way of drama, no accumulation or floods to speak of. Very raw weather. And due to continue for another day or two. Holy Week always was this way, in my memory. Odd, considering it varies from year to year, and should have been different. From the age of ten, until I no longer had to attend mass every Sunday and holy days of obligation, I sang with the choir, which helped. And the Holy Saturday vigil, with the lighting of the new fire, and procession, required much of our small group of heartfelt singers. The weather usually forced it inside, but once it was warm and wildly windy, and the consecration was held at a grill in the courtyard outside, and we chanted our way cupping candles, clothes whipping, around the side of the church, on that dark spring evening.
The choir saved my sanity. Able to sit alone, that is to say away from my parents, or more often just my mother, gave me a buffer. I also lectored, as somehow reading aloud to the congregation the Letters and New Testament passages made them easier to ignore than having to listen to them. (The elderly ladies liked me, because I spoke slowly and clearly, so they could hear.) I'd even been altar server for a couple of years, when that was briefly allowed. (I think it may be again.) But the choir in particular held my interest. Usually I was 1/3rd of the alto section, and would switch hit when the sopranos needed a second voice, but somehow we didn't sound bad, thanks to Mrs. Lancendorfer, who patiently coaxed us all into well practiced confidence. We may not have been great voices, but we didn't wobble. Having a role, despite my doubts, and utter lack of choice in my attendance, made that part of my life endurable.
And no, I never had any issues with any troublesome priests. All the ones I met were polite and respectful, and I was never alone with any of them anyway. I left catholicism thoughtfully and without rancor, as one leaves behind disliked shoes that never fitted anyway.
Yup, still snowing.