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Show 85 IDA'S SABBATH Ida sat at the organ for the 1,039th Sunday (one week shy of twenty years) playing the prelude music and peering over her glasses at five patriarchal backs lining the front row, blue serge and grey pin stripes, and one freckled balding pate. "Ida, how could you?" she asked herself as her trained feet picked out the bass line. "How could you have said that i t didn't matter anymore when you did the wash last night?" Out of habit, she flipped to a new page in "Quiet Music for the Church Organist" but didn't look at the music. "Oh, Ida," she moaned as she started to play "In the Garden." Except for three Sundays which she had had to miss because of emergencies and which her dutiful conscience had subtracted from the t o t a l, Ida had a perfect record-on time and in place. (Once she sliced her finger chopping onions for a meatloaf and had to s i t out Sunday morning waiting for a doctor to stitch her back together; the second time, Ida's daughter Raylene had had her baby on Sunday morning and because her husband Jody was crawling around in Viet Nam, Ida had f i l l e d i n ; and Louis, Ida's ex-husband, had been responsible for her missing the third |