St. Veronica was a patroness of laundresses – noted for wiping Jesus’ brow with a shroud, thereby imprinting the shroud, and the rest of that story is history.
Ate dinner one evening at Thai place, I forget the name. I forgot the tube stop, too. But the evening’s libation (variation of ice tea) came with a flower in the drink.
Pilgrimage
I started by reciting the first half-dozen lines from Chaucer’s Prologue to the Canterbury Tales, much to the chagrin of my fellow travelers. But Sunday, after coffee and so forth, it just seemed right. And away we went.
First stop was outside some train station, and I got to clown around with one of my favorite writers, Oscar.
And a stop at the place to rub.
Busking.
Riding the train.
“Please keep feet off the seats”
Finally made it to the Canterbury Cathedral.
Couple of tales from the trip. First off, right outside some church, before every leaving London, there was an Oscar Wilde memorial or sculpture, or something. I got to play on it. Then it was that long ride out to Canterbury. I’m guessing it’s about 60 miles, and it took about an hour on the train, which is a far cry shorter route from the days when the pilgrims left Southwark and took turns making up stories to entertain themselves.
Lord knows, I would only tell the truth.
Nothing but the facts.
We stumbled off the train and into the street in front of the station in Canterbury, and I scratched my head. I’ve been here before, but I didn’t recognize anything. I was studying the map on the wall, see the busking picture? Didn’t make enough to buy a map, so I was looking at the map on the wall, and a couple pedals up on a tandem bicycle.
Cute couple. Dreds. The guy might’ve been my age. “Which way’s the cathedral?” He pointed one way, his companion pointed the other direction, and then, a after a long discussion, they agreed that her way was the shorter, more direct route. That tandem bike looked like fun, too.
“Only if you can communicate well,” was her reply.
So the story goes, we staggered into some really good pizza along the bank of some river, at a little place selling Italian food. Then we meandered in an around the cathedral itself. It really is a special place for me, I mean, I like the architecture and all, and it’s been a holy place since, well, long before Christianity built any castles there. Plus, it’s just an amazing structure to stand in, and look up. And then there’s the sign.
“Martyr – this way.”
Yes, we all have a mother or two who could use that very sign.
As we passed one of the side chapels, one of the girls had to ask, “Hey, is that the gift shop?”
A little later, I got to ask, meant that as a joke, right?
“No, there were these nice tapestries, a few candelabras, I just thought it was the gift shop, you know, you could buy some saints or something….”
The sun was playing hide and seek, and as the clouds parted, there was that little bit of sun, I popped my hat on, and posed at the edge of the churchyard. Remember the tag line from that store in Austin?
“No one ever got laid wearing plaid.”
Good enough.
