"Church"

I knew Mo— and Ma— from my 3-year stint at the local public radio station (1988—1991). Husband Mo— was our arts producer. He came to us rich with history as actor, musician, songwriter, and storyteller. Wife Ma— was the city’s Roto-Rootstress. They made quite a pair. She taught him to Roto-Root, and he was her companion on her business missions around town. He taught her to play bass guitar, and she was his companion at folk music gigs around the world. And every now and then, they would get the word out to their friends: “We’re having ‘Church’ on Sunday.” And we, a certain subset of the great unwashed and unchurched, would gather at their house at about the same hour the greater number of washed and churched would be gathering at their various places of worship. Only we’d sit around sipping coffee and/or booze, eating gumbo and/or pie, playing cards and/or listening to music. And/or making music. Talking, talking, talking. Telling stories. Laughing, laughing, laughing. Even the memories make my heart yank itself around in its cavity with joy.