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Show Ida's Sabbath 86 Sunday when he had been wheeled into the operating room with a bulging hernia, no less.) Ida always arrived fifteen minutes early and always posted the hymn numbers by sliding them into the wooden slots on the pine, gothic-shaped hymn board before Morris Sant, the chorister, came striding in with his real leather briefcase. And she always wore soft pastels because her friend, Milly, who learned about color coordination from her cousin in Salt Lake City, had told Ida that she was a "Spring" and looked best in soft greens, pinks, and blues. Today Ida had worn pink and posted the hymn numbers, but she had also been ten minutes late. Of course, everyone else was late too, though Ida didn't notice. Nobody had time to pat babies or inquire about missionaries in Chile, New Jersey, and Taiwan who were out asking strangers what they knew about the Mormons. When Bishop Jensen f i n a l ly climbed the three stairs to the stand at 10:05 and sat on the row beneath the elevated Hammond organ without smiling or saying his usual "Hello Sister Rossiter" to Ida, she repeated "In the Garden," forgetting that she had already played i t twice. After a brief huddle with his two counselors, Bishop Jensen stood to start the meeting. He shook out the creases in the knees of his trousers, smoothed his hair, and walked to the pulpit. The f i r s t counselor pressed the button that raised the microphone to the correct height. Ida modulated quickly to the key of D, ending somewhere in the middle of the piece. "Welcome, Brothers and Sisters," said Bishop Jensen. "Welcome to another Sabbath, though an unusual one. You probably saw our steeple, or what's left of i t , as you came to church this morning " |