Prithee, why so pale?
or
I am my mother’s daughter

My mother was such a diligent person that she actually managed to worry herself into colitis while working as a paste-up person/proofreader for the local newspaper’s weekly advertiser. Naturally, she would come to mind as I was lying in bed at 4:30 this morning examining my conscience in anticipation of a visit from a priest with the Arch. archives to examine our sacramental records. Have I only used prescribed pens? Have I eschewed Wite-Out and other banned products? Are repairs made with acid-free archival quality tape? Have I made entries in a timely fashion and as completely as possible*? Is my writing legible? (Face it - that I know is OK. I print with a clear, basic elementary school teacherish hand that is just about identical to my mother’s.) So why am I feeling tormented? Monday night was my biweekly go round of bad-mother-am-I-doing-my-best-for-the-kids’-development-and-education thoughts. Having to account for my performance with the archives isn’t nearly so ominous. I did have something of a dream which was a lot like that scene in "A Christmas Story" where the teacher gives Ralphie an A++++++ on his essay. In my dream, I not only get the A++++++ but the priest is a talent scout from the Vatican who is going to recruit me because of my obsessive concern for detail coupled with exquisite block printing. Of course, our pastor made an amended entry with a FLAIR pen.....oh, how am I going to explain that?

*This is my opportunity to rant about clergy who do not submit complete marriage files.....if they submit them at all.