The Revd. Bob Ginn, a colleague from Western Massachusetts days, sent me this photo' of the Church of the Good Shepherd, West Fitchburg, MA.
I served at Good Shepherd from 1976 - 1980, and was ordained Priest there in December 1976. They were four joy-filled years. I left Good Shepherd to work on the staff of the Bishop of Western Mass., and to be Vicar of St. Christopher's in Chicopee, MA.
Hindsight suggests that I should have stayed longer, but I was starry eye'd at the prospect of being a member of Diocesan staff, and so I left.
The Good Shepherd congregation, much depleted in more recent years, has now joined forces with God's people at Christ Church, Fitchburg. It was a wise move, but I feel a little sad as I see the "For Sale" sign.
The Church of the Good Shepherd
My immediate predecessor at the Church of the Good Shepherd was the Revd. DeWolf Perry. He, and his wife Kitty became my good friends. I insisted that they should continue to worship at Good Shepherd after DeWolf's retirement soon after my "priesting". They did so, for our mutual joy and benefit.
They were terrific mentors. So I spent many a good hour at their home at 48 Hubbardston Road in nearby Princeton, MA.
Now, by ironic coincidence, DeWolf and Kitty's children, Jim, Dain and Tinka have come to the inevitable and sad decision to sell the house.
It is a place of many memories.
In true New England style I always entered through the back door. I spent many a relaxed hour on the back porch, sipping iced tea, chatting gently, and enjoying the inevitable summer geraniums.
I spent even more hours inside the home; having a simple lunch or dinner; being directly mentored by DeWolf; and absorbing Kitty's wisdom.
I remember a lovely party there after the baptism of Tinka's first child, Ricky.
There is also a somber memory. Dear DeWolf lay a-dying in a hospital in Worcester, MA. Kitty was there with their children. I was there too.
Kitty could not bear to stay in the hospital. So I drove her back home to 48 Hubbardston Road. There we sat and waited for the 'phone call which would tell us that DeWolf had passed. That call came in due course.
I adored Kitty, and will ever be humbled by the memory of sitting with her as we awaited the news of DeWolf's passing into life eternal.
48 Hubbardston Road, Front
48 Hubbardston Road, Rear
Interior 1
Interior 2
The Church building in Fitchburg, MA called "The Church of the Good Shepherd" is now for sale. 48 Hubbardston Road, Princeton MA is also for sale.
I bid a sad farewell to these bricks and mortar. They were vital shrines for me. In new ownerships they will never again be my homes.
But the blessed and holy memories of life, love and laughter in both places will sustain me until the moment of my death.
Michael, many thanks for a fitting eulogy for these two homes. To deepen the irony, the house in Princeton entered family lore via Bishop Perry, our grandfather, who was then rector of Christ Church, Fitchburg. He was also the person who built the 'mission' church at Good Shepherd.
"Feel I'm goin' back to Massachusetts, Something's telling me I must go home. And the lights all went out in Massachusetts The day I left her standing on her own."
Povey Prattle is taking a rset. I am doing this because when I transfer Povey Prattle stuff to Facebook (which is how most of you see it) a photo' of the poet MickyScottBeyJones often attaches itself to my posting. I've not been able to find a way to delete the story I wrote about Micky very many years ago. It's one of life's minor annoyances. So I will no longer post on Povey Prattle. If you are one of the five or six readers or followers of that blog you'll be able to read my nonsense and good sense on a new blog "More Prattle from Povey" If you follow me on Facebook there is nothing you need to do. The only difference is that you'll no longer see the confusing photo' of Micky Scott Bey Jones. But do look her up via a web search. She is a terrific poet.
Yesterday, as I walked out, for reasons which are beyond my ken, I began to think about "Farley's Rusks". According to Wiki. "A rusk is a hard, dry biscuit or a twice-baked bread. It is sometimes used as a baby teething food" The most famous brand of rusk in the U.K. was made by the Farley Company in Plymouth, Devonshire. Since I have five younger siblings I am very familiar with Farley's Rusks. They were all but omnipresent in our home. A s it says: "they were a baby teething food". T here were five babies in our home after me (from 1950 - 1956), each of whom needed Farley's Rusks as they "teethed" and moved from breast or bottled milk to solid foods. Lord alone knows if I cheated my younger sibs out of their fare shares of rusks, 'cause I liked them too. They were so tasty in warm milk, or smothered with butter. QUESTION. "What trick of memory made me remember "Farley's Rusks" yesterday...
Astrid Nicosia was a parishioner when I was the Vicar at St. Christopher’s Episcopal Church in Chicopee, MA. (1980-1984). She, born in Norway, was a delightful, sweet, gracious and deeply intuitive woman. Her husband Dominic Nicosia was born in Sicily. He was a bit gruff. But he had a nice and wry sense of humour. The Lord alone knows how and when a Norwegian woman would marry a Sicilian man! My beloved mother met Astrid on one of Mum’s visits from the U.K. to the U.S.A. These two fabulous women “hit it off” immediately. Michael and Cindy Tourville also attended St. Christopher’s. They were then a young and fairly newlywed couple, with two young sons. As it happens, they lived right next door to Dominic and Astrid. Twenty eight years later, Michael Tourville has written an affectionate and moving account of his (and Cindy’s), mysterious and grace-filled encounters with Astrid. It’s a fabulous tale, one that gives me Goosebumps as I remember the ...
Michael, many thanks for a fitting eulogy for these two homes. To deepen the irony, the house in Princeton entered family lore via Bishop Perry, our grandfather, who was then rector of Christ Church, Fitchburg. He was also the person who built the 'mission' church at Good Shepherd.
ReplyDelete"Feel I'm goin' back to Massachusetts,
ReplyDeleteSomething's telling me I must go home.
And the lights all went out in Massachusetts
The day I left her standing on her own."