Artifacts

   Back in the time when I was busy  with a lot of  family, job, and community obligations, there were 2 things I kind of dreaded doing on an annual basis:  getting a mammogram and going to Confession. I still get the annual mammogram.  The procedure is assembly line, professional and efficient, and I just numb my mind and have no issues.
     Confession is a different matter.  Dorothy and I used to seek out the general confessions where absolution was granted enmasse, but for some reason those rituals fell out of favor----only to be replaced by the individual face-to-face interview with the Priest in an open area of  the church.  Recidivist that I am,  I would prefer the antiquated confessional with the closed and darkened screen meant to insure your anonymity.  The thought of standing before a priest and looking him in the eye while  I enumerate my miserable and boring litany of sinful behavior is so stressful that I imagine I may either fall to the floor or, worse,  break into laughter.
   Fortunately for the fulfillment of the obligatory Easter Duties, the last several years have worked out for me. With knee surgeries, a  kidney stone retrieval, and such, a priest (or authorized substitute) has visited my hospital room, and, after the  most routine inquiry as to my acquiescence,  granted absolution with barely a glance in my direction.  This year, I'm on my own--still have several weeks left before my grace period expires.