You Can Dance If You Want To

This one goes out to you, Courtney Elizabeth Petersen. You've got a kindred spirit among the Order of Saint Benedict.

Sister Betty came to visit us today. Her notoriety proceeded her. She is a force of nature whose escapades make Zorro look like Amelia Bedelia. She once convinced the U.S. government to build a million-dollar women's center in Germany, beating out the other funding applicants partially because of her persistence, and partially because "she knew how to have a good time." She taught World Literature to orphans in Turkey during the Civil War. She swears with the gusto and creativity of the German sailors who taught her how. Many of her stories are not for the meek, the faint of heart, or anyone who could be slain by a well-placed double-entendre. My favorite, which took place when Betty was a Novice, happens to be one of the safer ones.

In those days, the convent held a lot of nuns--sometimes over a hundred. The meetings tended to drag on, and Betty often got bored. What else, you ask, is a pious woman of the cloth to do to relieve ennui? Betty singled out the carved figure of St.Roch, who is the patron of plague victims ("it was just this awful statue, all covered with sores and frowning at us all the time...") and decided to "spice up" the reputation of the luckless saint.

She caught two lightening bugs and smuggled them into the chapel. She got into position and, when the moment was right, the lights were turned off, and Betty stuffed the fireflies into her dimples. She launched into a hearty soft-shoe, and for a moment old St. Roch became a floating, glowing smile that appeared to be dancing--just uninhibited, devil-may-care, as-if-all-that-unpleasantness-about-succumbing-to-the-Black-Death-were-merely-a-formality dancing. This is when the Reverend Mother decided to make her entrance.

Betty was sent to the office and, on her knees, was asked to explain precisely what she had been doing. "I'll have to turn out the lights in order to show you," she said--and promptly reapplied the fireflies, and began to soft-shoe--only this time with some difficulty, as she was on her knees. Her penalty was to kneel when she ate meals the next day, with the table at eye-level. I guess that happened a lot with Betty. She ended up getting both knees replaced.

The moral of the story is: always check to see if the coast is clear before public, plague-related soft-shoeing. Let that be a lesson to all of you, and C.P. in particular. Amen.