By Georgia Osten
“This week we are scared of Corona Virus, last week we were eatin’ Moonpies from the gutter at Mardi Gras.” (Thanks Sue!)

Sunday morning, we drove to Winnie to make their early, I stress early mass. I offered this proposition to my husband Saturday evening, thinking we would be getting an extra hour of sleep. WRONG! He set me straight and it was already too late for mass at our own church anyway, which is just up the street from the house.

Sunday morning, it was dark still and that road to Winnie, if you’re not used to it, is pretty treacherous. Brights and barely going 60 mph, we made it in plenty of time. Not that this mass is ever standing room only.

The first surprise upon entering the church was that the holy water sconces were covered with saran wrap. Geez, what the heck?!? I must have shrieked because this lady in the back row turned around to look at me and we kind of shrugged our shoulders at one another in awe.

Next thing I noticed was that there were no chalices up on the altar. I let this slide until right before communion, the priest (he was actually the deacon) mentioned that we would only be accepting the host with our hands. This was okay with me since that’s what I always do, but I thought of some of the “really old-timers” who still open their mouths and stick out their tongues so the priest has to sort of reach in their mouths to place the host on their tongues.

Doing without the chalice is fine with me because I never have been able to absorb the idea of drinking after 50 people or so, where the chalice only gets wiped with a napkin between each sip.

This brings to memory, growing up Methodist, our holy communion was always the first Sunday of the month, and our “chalices” were little tiny glasses of Welch’s grape juice. Each person had their own.

Next thing the priest told us was during the Lord’s Prayer, we were not expected to hold hands with our neighbor and after the Lord’s Prayer, we were to offer each other a sign of peace by simply waving to each other, no hugging, no shaking hands. I thought the “Peace Sign” would have been cute, but we won’t go there.

I had my husband right next to me, so we simply hugged each other like we always do. If I’m going to be infected with Corona Virus from him, or visa versa, it’s inevitable.

Which, speaking of my husband, as soon as we entered the church, he sneezed, I thought “Way to Go Dear!”

We were told the church is investing in little bottles of holy water to dispense to us to take home.

Like I said, these are some strange times.

GO’s Sand Bucket is only one beach bum’s journal of life at the beach, probably something each of you can relate to. Please feel free to email me with your thoughts, visions and/or feelings of just exactly what the beach means to you. Email: [email protected]

[March-10-2020]