It's the end of the world

Or someone thinks so.   Fr. James Martin bids goodbye to a few of his favorite things.

Meantime, take it away, Skeeter.

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Comments

  1. Deacon John says:

    For someone today will be the end of the world as we know it. Our hope is to enter a new and greater reality. God bless

  2. Don’t worry about the world coming to an end today. It is already tomorrow in Australia.

    Charles M. Schulz (Peanuts cartoonist)

  3. naturgesetz says:

    This evening Boston Baroque will be performing Haydn’s Oratorio “The Creation.” Appropriate for the end of the world, don’t you think? (Although I don’t think they had the occasion in mind when they scheduled it.)

    They’ll perform it again Sunday afternoon if we’re still around.

  4. Deacon Norb says:

    Following up on Fr. Martin’s post, here’s the things I might miss — but then again the end of the world doesn’t seem to have happened:

    –Genuine Kentucky dewberry fried pies a-la-mode with black walnut ice cream !

    –Piloting one of my grand-children their “first fight” in a sailplane 6,000 feet over MNN !

    –Relaxing at the Mill Pond Park in Cambridge England with a pint of Old Speckled Hen English Ale and watching Stephen Hawking scoot by !

    –Hearing Friar Odo singing high opera “in tongues” while I assist him in celebrating a Charismatic Mass !

    The Risen Lord is Good!

  5. justamouse says:

    Now see, I’m of the generation that prefers REM’s soundtrack to these articles.

  6. Jim Dotter says:

    Please tell me Skeeter Davis eventually got rid of that awful hairstyle. She is much too pretty to be saddled with that!

  7. Irish Spectre says:

    These days, there is just no WAY she’d make it past TSA without an exhaustive top cover scan. …great voice and great tune, though!!

  8. When I was a young and impressionable (and, well, OK, deeply strange) Catholic schoolgirl, there were always apocalyptic scenarios in the air–the Third Secret of Fatima, Communists (or the public school system) coming in the night to capture and brainwash us, the Bomb. My little sister and her friend, to whom I had foolishly confessed my fears that each day would be our last, used to follow me around singing Skeeter Davis’s “The End of the World” and collapsing in fits of giggles at my reaction. If I had known then what Skeeter’s hair looked like, I might have joined them!

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