The old lady looked forward to Sunday Mass.
She could no longer make it to the church. She was too frail for that. Her son used to take her, but it was too much of an imposition for her liking, so she stayed at home and watched it on the TV. It was a ritual she enjoyed. She would first take the bottle of wine from the box in the cupboard and place it on the low table that sat between her armchair and the television. This was followed by a packet of plain crackers from the larder. Then she would take down the lovely pewter chalice her dearly beloved and much missed husband had bought for her, just because she liked it so much. She would give it a wipe and place it next to the wine. At this point she would open the bottle to let the wine breathe for a while. The man from the farm told her that. Finally, she would switch the TV on and go to the channel that aired religious programmes and select the service. She did this a few minutes before it was due to start, giving herself time to make herself comfortable.
When the service began she sat devoutly, listening and watching the programme in silence. At the appropriate time, she climbed out of her chair and knelt beside the table. With the priest on the screen extending his arms and reciting, she took a single cracker and placed it on her tongue. She then took the bottle and tipped in a small quantity of wine. This she sipped. After a few long moments with her head bowed, she returned to her chair to watch the remainder of the service. As she did, she would take an occasional sip of the wine. It was truly delicious. She always found that the taste and the aroma of it became stronger with every sip. So much so that as the evening went on these grew larger and larger.
The wine was homemade. Her neighbouring farmer used peaches from his orchard. He was a nice man. All those years ago they had gone to the same local school together. He was proud of the quality of the wine he made, often telling her how you should use the yeast starter two days before starting the wine, together with getting the temperature spot on was the trick to getting a good fermentation. She never really understood any of this, but was happy to listen to how much pleasure he got out of it. For the price of a cup of tea and a brief chat he would hand deliver a box regularly. It was their little secret.
She never went to bed on those nights. The armchair was comfortable enough.
Yes, she really looked forward to Sunday Mass.
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