Racking up the rosaries

I grew up with women of the rosary. Think the Catholic church’s equivalent of Hell’s Angels. But more lace than leather, an Irish fisherman’s sweater and comfortable shoes. My friends’ mothers and grandmothers—mainly of the Irish persuasion—stockpiled an unbelievable number of rosaries in their “delicates” drawers back in the day. From jade to crystal, pearl…

On little (lost) lambs

It was the Our Fathers that usually elicited gasps. Growing up Catholic and attending 12 years of Catholic school provides one with a host of memories. I think of them now in sensory fashion. The smell of wet wool skirts in the winter when snow fluttered down to dampen my plaid jumper during recess. The…