Sunday, July 8


I'm in Ireland with my family at the moment, details forthcoming, and so, amazingly enough, the long-expected Motu Proprio completely slipped my mind amid the rockbound coast of Kerry and rolling green hills of Tralee...they really are green, like a TechniColor version of the Midwest--but yet I compare everything, including southern Italy, and the Midwest, to a TechniColor version of the Midwest. I got the news six hours late, having been in the wilds of the Dingle peninsula at noon, but was able to celebrate belatedly by serenading the sheep one pasture over with a rendition of Tim Ferguson's alternate lyrics to La donna è mobile. Imagine Luciano Pavarotti (or Adam Sandler's Operaman, if you must) as you sing along:
Summorum pontificum
Das ist bellisimum!
Dust off the altar rails,
Dove mi mani-pales?

Te Deum chantez-vous!
Pop out the Veuve Clicquot
Vo ist mein Sanctus bell?
A cappa for Cardinal Pell! [“Schnell!” to be shouted in the background on the downbeat]

Donde biretta?
Ecco! Perfetta!

What could be betta,
Than Mass with one voice!
I followed this up with Bailey's (I may not be much for alcohol, but I do have a sweet tooth), and enjoyed the late summer sunset at 11 PM. Operaman, bye-bye!

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