In Memoria Sororis sanctae

In memory of a holy Sister.
Sister Anna of the Visitation has passed. The world will not soon see another like her. For one fine memory, the dear Sister was troubled by her name- Anna. She thought the two syllables was perniciously lascivious; the tongue lingered too long and too lovingly on " Annnn-nnna".
I
t should have been plain Anne, Greengables-like: plain old Anne. Or, better yet, Ann. Or An. Or a sonorous nasal humming like the "m" in Om. She frequently counseled the girls of our grade school on how to act around boys.
She must have had some greengrocers in her family tree. Don't let them pinch the fruit, she said. To get a husband, one must keep the produce looking fresh and clean. The best goods are top shelf, out of reach of the clamorous testosterone mob, but readily visible to their burning eyes. Rotate the goods frequently - whatever could that have meant?

In eighth grade, she taught a sex-ed class before such things existed. It was like a Cana Conference - being canny about Cana; i.e., weddings; i.e., sex, but it wasn't really...and now you know where Catholics come from. It was a regular class on religion that turned to matters of the flesh, shall we say. We boys were off somewhere else...possibly cleaning the incorrupt body of St. Francis. On the first day, Sister Anna welcomed the young girls into 8th grade religion and bid them to cross their legs under the desks. They did this, wondering what she wanted. "Now that the gates of hell are closed...", Sister Anna would intone and then continue on.
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