The Door

O Virgin of virgins, how shall this be? For neither before thee was any like thee nor shall there be after. Daughters of Jerusalem, why marvel ye at me? That which ye behold is a divine mystery.

Tonight was the final night of the Great O Antiphons at Evensong. It was nice to have a full complement of servers and a decent congo and so great to see Bob back in his pew. Doug led the chants and for once most of us sang along on pitch. Somehow this finally put me in the Christmas spirit and I got my shopping done after polishing and melting wax most of the afternoon. My brother came by for lunch, having escaped Denver just before the blizzard hit. I look forward to spending Christmas with him and the Forest Hills gang and then going up to Cooperstown for a couple of days. I hope to finally get copies of the photos of Fr. Ritchie that Zabriskie took and to finish viewing the enormous collection of his photographs in the Fenimore archives. I also plan to see the Grandma Moses exhibit with my sister-in-law and nieces while my brother and nephews go to the baseball hall of fame. It will be nice to get some nice fresh upstate air after six weeks of sanding the West End door. It's almost done and looks quite wonderful in its almost virginal white oak state. It occurred to me that surely Charles Frederic had a hand in picking this most exquisite and costly wood. Fr. Ritchie mentioned in his sermon, "A Lover of God's House" at CFZ's requiem, that he would not hear of sparing any expense to obtain the best possible materials for the building of the church. I have wanted to refinish this door for years and have finally this fall had the nerve to attempt it. I always suspected it was beautiful wood underneath all that ugly varnish. I had some help for a few weeks getting most of the varnish off but the last few weeks I have been on my own getting down to all the details. It's been a lonely endeavor, usually in the evenings when no one is around, but I have never felt alone thinking of all the good people who have gone in and out that door. I kept hearing that Julio Iglesias song and thinking if only oak could talk what tales we would hear of all the ones who have loved this place before.