This is as far back in the back ridges of moonshine Cherokee County as you can possibly get. The old guy who lives here makes his way out on Sundays to serve the Traditional Latin Mass, and then afterward, I go on Communion calls, which includes his wife.
He greets me at the door packing heat, I think a .38 Special. Meanwhile, the son, who’s probably as old as I am (which is old), will usually be coming up from downstairs to see what trouble is brewing up top. The son can mag-dump into the same bullet hole a good distance out with – not a revolver, as that would be too easy – but with a grindy-trigger pistol. Hat’s off to him. Then he’ll disappear again. Meanwhile, the old guy’s elderly wife, well, let’s just say that this reminds of her skills and wisdom:
We have a chat, making sure we’re all good to go with food supplies and candles for prayer and such. Then the prayer gets serious with the Holy Communion part of the Communion call. Then we chat a bit more about schedules of doctors and such for the week. We might also talk about guns, because, well, I’m always carrying as well. If I’m not, I get severely reprimanded with lectures about the fallen state of the world and how I have to be at the ready in any situation. If I’m just coming from the Rehab/Nursing Home I might say that it’s still in the car. More reprimands come my way for being so forgetful, with no discipline. I love it. They’re such a day brightener for me.