Rosie and Maria
Told by Sr. Vivian Miller
St. Maria DeMattias
Foundress of
The Adorers
of the
Blood of Christ
Hi, there
my name is Rosie—-
better known as NOSIE.
You guessed it.
I have a natural curiosity
and a genuine friendliness
that keeps me well informed.
I have a very interesting story
to tell you.
It’s about one of my ancestors
and one of yours.
We donkeys usually have short memories but my
great great GREAT GRANDFATHER
had a very interesting experience
in his life…one he wanted us to remember.
We have heehawed these memories
down the years;
and NOW it is MY turn to tell them.
This is how my grand-dad looked
back in the 1830’s.
He too was called Nosie….
I mean, ROSIE;
well really both,
depending on the circumstances.
He wasn’t even a year old when
his life became linked to a
certain
MARIA DE MATTIAS.
Why don’t I just let him
tell you the story.
” I was not too happy
the day I found out
that I would be working
for a girl.
My master
sold me at a miserable price!
But it didn’t take me long to realize that I was really lucky.
This woman was kind, gentle
and thoughtful.
She was the leader of a large
group of women.
“Mother”, they called her.
The people in the towns called her:
“Maestra”.
Back to that group of women,
I had to make it clear from the
very beginning that I had
NO intentions of carrying
anyone but the “Mother”.
(Maria was of moderate size.)
Once when a certain sister
tried to mount me,
I planted my front feet firmly
in the dust and raised
my back feet to an angle
that sent her flying
over my head and
into a flower patch!
She looked so funny.
I heehawed
long and hard.
Believe me,
she never tried
that again.
My Maria scolded me,
but she also calmed me
and put me
in a better frame of mind.
I still gave other people
a rough ride…
when Maria wasn’t around.
My Maria and I covered
a lot of miles,
up and down the hills
of central Italy.
I like to remember certain trips we made.
She had the heart of a mother.
She visited the sisters often
and whenever she heard of any
illness, she was always ready to hurry to them.
I could tell when our trip was
important,
for she would gently urge me on with:
“Hurry my little one,
Hurry. Hurry!”
When the weather
was pleasant
Maria rode,
but when the wind
and rain surprised us,
she would walk
by my side.
We understood each other.
She worried about me
and I worried about her.
I often wondered about
her cough. It often
bent her way over.
After a coughing spell,
she would rest her head
on my back.
I knew she was tired and sick…
but what could I do?
Once on a trip to Morino,
we lost our way.
I didn’t know where to go.
My long ears caught phrases like:
“Providence of God..
Trust…
Give me light.”
I knew she was praying.
She does this so often.
Then all of a sudden,
I heard a voice
and saw a child.
I liked him and let him
take my reins to lead me.
And wonders of wonders,
in a flash we were back on the
main road.
The little boy was also gone.
The sisters sang their joyful
thanks to God.
I brayed my best to thank God, too.
I may not be the brightest donkey,
but I understood a lot of things.
For example:
I could tell the sisters loved Maria.
There was so much joy when she
arrived—
but when she had to leave,
there were hugs and kisses
and many tears as we rode off.
Even the workmen were happy
when Maria was home.
She remembered their coffee break,
and sometimes had a bit of wine
for them.
I sometimes would make my
presence known too.
I was usually rewarded with a carrot
and a pat on my nose.
There were times when food was scarce.
We mules are not known for our patience,
and I brayed my protest long and loud.
One day I was so hungry I decided
to get my food even if it meant
going right to the sisters’ table.
I got to the window and stopped,
for I saw all the sisters seated
in silence.
My Maria was praying,
but there wasn’t anything on the table.
Then as she finished and sat down…
I saw a man coming up the street
with a large basket.
I couldn’t believe it.
He knocked on the door
and gave it to ALL the sisters.
The clapping and joy inside
confirmed my suspicions.
The basket contained
their supper:
bread, cheese, fruit, wine, salami…
and even a carrot for ME!!!
The people loved Maria.
Churches were packed whenever she was in town.
There has always been discrimination against us
four legged creatures going
into church,
but through the window
I could see:
Maria was either talking to the people or
singing and playing the organ.
Once she began to talk to the people in the town square.
Soon some men
brought out a table
for her to stand on, because
everyone wanted to see her!
WAS I PROUD OF
MY MARIA!!!!
.
As I was saying,
My Maria liked to sing.
She sang some songs so often
I almost learned them myself.
Many times I wished
I could sing like a bird,
so I could join her in songs
to Our Lady and
to the Divine Blood of Jesus.
Just between you and me,
not all of her songs were holy.
Sometimes I trotted down the lane
to folk songs.
We donkeys are known to be bold,
and I might add, courageous:
but once, I must admit that
I was SCARED.
I didn’t know what was going on.
It was late one night.
For some reason there were lots of celebrating men passing
the convent singing loudly
and shouting Viva Italy.
I wasn’t in the best of mood,
because I wanted to sleep.
I brayed my impatience,
and yes, I kicked a board or two
loose in my stall.
Then I heard glass break
and screams from the sisters.
WHAT WAS GOING ON???
Then all of a sudden everything
was quiet; a scary quiet.
I was shaking like a willow tree.
There was nothing to do
but lie down in a far corner
and wait for morning.
How I wished my Maria was close,
but she probably had her hands full
quieting the sisters.
I imagined her hurrying
them all into Church.
Seems it was their favorite
spot, when things went wrong.
By morning, all was quiet,
so I walked around
and saw the broken windows.
You know I will never really
understand some people.
Among my least pleasant memories
were the trips MY Maria
made without ME.
When I would see her drive away
in a fancy carriage,
I would know that she
was on her way to Rome.
I guess you could say I was jealous.
Once she stayed away
much too long.
I had to do all sorts of jobs like:
carrying water,
carrying wood for the kitchen stove,
or carrying baskets filled with grapes.
I liked grape-picking time,
there was always a
sweet treat when my job was done.
After almost a year
MY Maria came home.
She looked tired
but happy to be home.
Maria and I made several
more trips together,
but we were not so young anymore.
We both tired easily
and the miles seemed to be endless.
I spent more and more time
in my stall, and
Maria spent less and less time in Acuto.
Then one day, Sister Bernice,
came to see me.
She was crying.
She stayed with me a long time.
My Maria had gone to heaven.
I was so sad and tired
I laid down for a good long sleep
Well, Grandfather
never did wake up.
If he did it was in
DONKEY PARADISE.
I like to imagine him
looking up and
seeing a beautiful sight:
His Maria, just as happy
as she could be,
smiling down on him
and on all of us .
