One of the penances I received was less offensive than I’m sure was intended. I felt quite privileged and ended up being treated to one of my favorite sweet dishes, bread pudding. My mother used to make it often and smother it with Maple syrup. 

This came about when our mistress, the head Sister, of our group, instructed us what to prepare for supper. The directions for making our meal were more unclear than she thought, particularly the desert. She had a different picture in her mind than I did when she told me to use up the bread for bread pudding. 

I interpreted the mandate to use up the bread to mean use all of the designated bread. She did not mean that to be taken literally. She seemed appalled when I presented four tasty dishes of bread pudding. 

I guess in her head she planned one baking dish of bread pudding. Very few of the sisters enjoyed bread pudding.  In fact, at another time, one dropped a bowl just to have it be taken care of in her way, tossed out.

My penance was to finish up the other three bowls of pudding. Somehow I was able to instill the idea for our mistress to allow me to put Maple syrup on the bread pudding. I don't know why she knuckled under and let me have the exquisite pleasure,  despite the fact it was publicized as a penance.

Some of the sisters helped by sneaking a bowl out the back window to our resident Pastor who was gifted with a variety of items taken from us because of monastic rules.  Some were nice gifts from our parents or relatives and others were excess cooked foods such as in my case. Telling us of this later, he laughed as he told us about all of the smelly powders he was handed.

Another hilarious dessert could have been thrown out.  As a consolation prize, we had a day to talk and laugh. The older group, the donut disaster folks was scheduled to prepare meals,  creating another cooking cautionary tale. The dessert instructions were to top their freshly baked brownies with a scoop of vanilla ice cream.

One of them thought of the efficient idea to put the ice cream on the brownies and place both of them in the freezer. Off they went to class. I'm sure they felt secure to know their dessert was ready to be served at supper. Oh, that sounds fine to us right now. Have you caught the glitch yet?

Remember we could not speak at meals. The frozen brownies topped with frozen ice cream were placed in front of us surrounded by the required stark silence. Rock-solid brownies banging against dessert plates were all we could hear.  We could not use a fork on them. We looked around the table to see if anybody had come up with a solution for how to get into those brownies.

The dessert preparers were observed, with eyes rolled, looking at each other, mortified.  I'm sure everyone was certain they would receive an icy penance from our mistress.  The room chilled with frustration. Eventually, our mistress could stand it no longer and began laughing.  She announced our favorite phrase which was Bene Dacamus Domino,  granting us permission to talk and laugh. 

Forgive me if I repeat myself in some of the details I relate here. These memoirs are from over 20 years ago. I'm sorting them out as I type.  I may have mentioned the depository we had in our favorite priest, the bittersweet purpose he served.

Because the Sisters took the vow of poverty we were in training to learn what it was like to own nothing. This lesson was especially exercised when we received our religious habit or dress consisting of five yards of serge, a heavy thick material.

This step in our education was considered a goal reached, therefore we were showered with congratulatory gifts, never to be considered ours. They were snatched out of our laps as soon as we unwrapped them. I remember nothing except a lovely attache’ case. 

I don’t remember if I even got to see the interior as the handle was grabbed by our mistress and never to be seen again. Possibly, having taken on ownership of the exquisite attache', our priest could have looked debonair walking around, with my family's gift to me, never to be mine. 

Fortunately, the gifter was unaware we never saw our gifts after unwrapping them. There would be no thank you cards sent out as we couldn’t remember what we received.  A frightening honor to become privy to the rules we were unaware those ahead of us had to comply with.    

On another note, I don’t know how this particular novitiate bus came to be called such a name as The Black Maria, a police van.  It did suit the situation well, as we could not leave the premises except to complete an errand or to be transported to the Mother House which I called the big house where twenty-five of the Sisters monastically resided.

While in the Novitiate, in addition to cooking we attended classes and performed other errands.  In our haste to make pies, the dough often took on a leather texture from rolling it and rewadding it too many times.  We’d show up for class with some dustings of white flour still on the skirt of our black habits and possibly smudges on our holy faces.

My friends must have wondered what was going on with me.  You see, we had classes with students who were not in the novitiate. The irony is I knew most of them because they were my best friends.  We had pajama parties together less than a year previous.   Something none of us could comprehend was why I could not speak with them nor could they speak with me. If a teacher spied me breaking the rule she would report me to my novice mistress and I would have to get a penance.

I'm deviating a bit here no longer talking about the kitchen but I will talk about a penance I received for talking with a new student in our classes. She was no one I had previously known. I think I had a crush on her too, which made it worse.

Someone tattled on me.  Probably one of the teachers or the librarian.  She loved watching us. There must have been something about my persona to make her think my walking around the tables was creating excessive noise because she would shush me.  Just my smile was too loud for her. Oh, I hate being shushed. 

That is a trigger from my experience of the gymnasium atrocity when I got shushed and tsked by about one hundred twenty-five Sisters. I did not know there was an unwritten rule that I could not speak until I had made my vows, which I hadn't.  Shocked and feeling attacked by everyone, I was shushed and tsked.  Was that a nun thing?