G’Day, Thursday

Dropped In On My Old Pal Thursday. It's Been A Week ...

Moaning Monday — will it ever end? And even if it does, Tiresome Tuesday still has sooooo far to go. As for Wibbly Wednesday, it just wobbles along neither here nor there. 

And then Thursday strolls up, with a drawl of a smile and a twinkle of encouragement. Like the hero in the Western, or the ghost of your mother’s reassurance.

As if to say, ‘You’re doin’ good, kid, doin’ good — nearly there, son …’

It’s Thursday.

No-one ever says that, do they, though? I mean in italics, with an exclamation mark:

It’s Thursday!

But I do!

Thursday’s never burdened with expectations, like Friday, or Saturday, which you just have to have ridiculously big plans for. Do something you’ll remember forever until Monday. Oh, and relax …

Yes, after you’ve been to Woodies, clipped the lawn, mowed the dog, trudged up to a few muddy kids’ football matches or yawned your way through your darlings’ ballet lessons …

Knackered before you’re even out of bed at the thoughts of it all.

No such pressure with Thursday though.

If it’s been so far so good, then you’ve earned yourself a treat, a breather — if not, sure you’re over the worst of it, and you’ve made your peace with it by now.

Besides, as TV host and funnyman Conan O’Brien says, when all else fails, there’s always delusion …

Now Festival Friday and Shindig Saturday have their fans and even Sedate Old Sunday has its devotees. 

Chillin’ on the sofa Thursday Night? Not so much.

Sure, there have been brilliant weekend highs when you had money enough to do what you shouldn’t, but too often they ended up in never again … again … revelry and regret.

You’ve got it, I love Thursday … especially the evening … sitting back and thinking. Netflix indulging and weekend dreaming. 

Wine o’clock unwinding and sifting through the week’s progress, stuff still to do, but all good, all good.

So what if it was supposed to be your first wine of the week … we’re off the clock here, mate.

Perhaps the ghost of a Catholic upbringing still faintly flickers in a hallowed alcove deep in my Thursday’s past.

As a boy I just loved Holy Thursday evening in the church. 

Which is today.

Even the droning hymns sounded good. Celestial. 

Bodies scrunched in tight together on that polished wooden pew, in the half-dark, half-light, inhaling that heady incense as it unchained the senses and fired the imagination.

A faint high-pitched child’s trill and furtive wisps of whispered conversation only emphasised the prevailing silence. The same soft light shadowing the passed and the present as the songs of praise resounded in the familiar rafters high above. 

The candles flickering at the side altar in front of me now and the mellow rumble of the priest narrating the story of Jesus and the Apostles and the Last Supper, the agony in the Garden and the rest.

The tense build up to the betrayal we know is coming from that nasty Judas Iscariot. Jesus telling Peter he is going to deny him. The hush as the altar bells ring and the priest raises the Communion Host like a trophy.

High drama. Script, acting, costumes, atmosphere, set design, all top drawer.

Over in the corner pew with my friends but barely aware of their elbow-jabbing and sniggering as the old tale unfolds. Jesus and his men having their last feast before the crucifixion and the monumental moments to come. The carrying of the cross through the jeering streets, the crowning with thorns, the piercing of feet … the crucifixion itself.

But we also know the stone will roll back …”He’s gone, where is he?” … ta da! Jesus has risen from the dead.

Brilliant stuff.

I don’t know if I ever believed it but I sure was happy to be caught up in the story.

The words so familiar but alive for once: “On the night before he was betrayed Jesus took the bread, broke it, gave it to his disciples and said, “Take this and eat it, this is my body and blood …”

“Do this in memory of me …”

The altar bells clanging to announce Holy Communion. All those stunning girls we can barely talk to filing by with their covered, gorgeous heads bowed. Mostly feigning holy like we are. Especially with mom and dad  watching. Trying to time our entry into the line, without falling over the kneeler as we join the swell heading for communion. 

Lent was almost over and it would be back to the Rolos and the Cadburys. A time of renewal. Renewal of the Taytos and Perri crisps more like it.  And Easter eggs. Yay!

Was it after Holy Communion they had the moving of the Blessed Sacrament from the golden tabernacle and the ceremonial procession through the church? Or before? Not sure, but it was powerful,  a kind of charged solemnity in the air as the cortege proceeded.

The Eucharist would be brought back again for the Good Friday part the next day. The next day’s episode in the hit mini-series that will be repeated every year like It’s A Wonderful Life at Christmas

The bells  silenced and the altar laid bare for the grand finale on Easter Sunday.

The best dramas have a strong build up, making the pay-off of the great denouement worth the wait.

Where would Easter Sunday be without Holy Thursday?

Good day, Thursday. 

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