By Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Imagine living in New York City and never seeing the Statue of Liberty. Now imagine living in Faribault, MN., home to the first Cathedral of the American Church, and never stepping inside that cathedral.

I’ve seen the Statue of Liberty. But I’ve lived in Faribault for 26 years and never toured The Cathedral of Our Merciful Saviour, although I’ve been inside the historic sanctuary. I was a bit embarrassed when I admitted that fact to Russell, The Cathedral caretaker, during an impromptu “tour” Saturday morning.

I was at The Cathedral complex for a quilt show when Russell stopped me and said he liked my t-shirt, a white shirt with “The Winonan Established 1922″ imprinted inside a blue and gold crest with “Your news. Your Voice” below. I was actually a bit embarrassed about wearing the shirt because I saw at that moment specks of chocolate cake batter splattered across the front. That didn’t matter to Russell.

Curious, I asked why he was interested in my t-shirt. I thought perhaps he assumed I worked for The Winonan and was simply striking up a conversation. But Russell said he collects t-shirts and that mine reminded him of the crests adorning windows in the Bishop Gilbert dining room. I followed Russell up a ramp and into the dining hall, where he pulled up a shade revealing a blue and gold crest, among other crests.

As I looked around the dining hall, I marveled at the beautiful paintings that rimmed the room. Russell gestured to the far corner, explaining that the paintings tell the story of the search for the Holy Grail. My eyes followed his finger as he pointed to each panel and quickly summarized the story.

Along one side, below the story panels, a sculpture of children, most of them with musical instruments, hugs the wall. Russell explained that Bishop Henry Whipple and his wife liked children and this was a tribute to them.

Whipple, an important figure in early Minnesota history because of his work with Native Americans, settled in Faribault, where The Cathedral construction began in 1862. Seven years later the $100,000 church was completed. Today the building is on the National Register of Historic Places. Russell is fortunate enough to care for this historic treasure. He also calls this place home, living in an on-site one-room basement apartment.

Apparently Russell is not bothered by the fact that Bishop Whipple’s remains lie inside a sarcophagus within a crypt in the adjoining sanctuary. He seems rather taken with the beauty of the place he cares for and rightfully so.

The Cathedral, with its beautiful stained glass windows, heavy dark wood, historic artifacts, incredible pipe organ and so much more, certainly makes an impression. Just by standing inside, you can sense the history of this place. I regret that it has taken me nearly three decades to recognize this jewel within my own community. But like Russell said, “There are people living in New York City who have never seen the Statue of Liberty.”
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FYI: Tours of The Cathedral of Our Merciful Saviour, 515 N.W. Second Ave., are available from 8:30 a.m. to noon Monday through Friday, after Sunday services or by appointment. Log onto www.thecathedralfaribault.com or call (507) 334-7732. On Feb. 12, 2009, The Cathedral will host the Vienna Boys Choir as part of the Fesler-Lampert Performing Arts Series sponsored by Shattuck-St. Mary’s School of Faribault.

By Audrey Kletscher Helbling

I learned late yesterday afternoon that another extended family member reigns this week as a princess. (See my blog, “The royal family,” published on Sept. 24.) My 6-year-old niece and goddaughter, Cortney, is presiding as a junior escort at Waseca High School’s homecoming.

Cort is the little sister of Whitney, who held the same position in 2004, not in 2003 as I previously noted. Hey, aunts can’t remember everything. I didn’t attend last night’s coronation. So I’m wondering if Cortney followed her sister’s example by hiking up her skirt. I hope not.

With Cort, though, you never know what may happen. She appears all sweet and innocent. But underneath those princess looks and demeanor lies a 6-year-old girl with a mind of her own. She’ll dig in her heels and stand her ground against anyone. That’s not necessarily bad, except sometimes.

Take two years ago, when Cortney served as the flower girl in her cousin Tara’s wedding. She decided she didn’t want the role. Her mom cajoled, threatened and pleaded, but Cort persisted in her defiance. She wouldn’t pose for photos. She cried. Thankfully Cort eventually cooperated when it really counted and walked down the church aisle.

I expect now that she’s two years older, Cort will fully embrace her royal duties and hold court like the little princess she has always been.

By Audrey Kletscher Helbling

The first true sign of autumn has arrived at my house. This came as a four-legged, furry, skittering creature with beady eyes and a slender tail. I didn’t actually see the varmint. But I saw his/her telltale signs. And my husband assured me that we had, indeed, caught our first mouse of the season.

That alarms me a bit because the weather has been rather summer-like lately. And mice usually don’t move inside until temps become uncomfortably cool outdoors. At least that’s how it’s been in the past.

Anyone who knows me also knows how very much I hate mice. I cannot stand them. I fear them, even though they are, as my husband always points out, much smaller than me. That does not matter to me. Not one bit.

At noon on Tuesday, I first realized that a mouse had entered my kitchen. I opened a bottom pantry cupboard to find remnants of a snack food scattered among the bags of chips. Upon closer inspection, I discovered that a popcorn bag had been chewed open. That was enough for me. I slammed the door, lest the mouse should still be lurking inside.

That was highly unlikely as I saw no possible entry point other than through an open door. I suspect (although he denies it) that my husband left the cupboard door open when he packed his lunch the previous night.

No matter, the mouse needed to be caught. But first, we emptied the cupboard and I scoured the shelves with a bleach/water disinfectant. Then my husband strategically placed newly-purchased snap traps in the kitchen and in the basement. I figured we would catch a rodent overnight. But later that evening, the rattling snap of a mouse trap roused us from our television-induced reverie. My feet automatically left the floor as I demanded that my husband check the trap. He did. No mouse.

Now a snapped trap and an uncaught mouse roaming about my kitchen really put me in a panic, not a good place to be prior to retiring for the night. But what choice did I have? I went to bed with mouse on the brain and my covers pulled tightly under my chin.

Wednesday morning, the first words out of my mouth were not “Good morning, dear.” But rather, “Be sure to check the mouse traps before you leave for work.” No way was I going to be the first one in the kitchen.

My husband reported back that there was no dead mouse in the kitchen, not even a snapped trap. But soon he came back with the news that a mouse had been trapped in the basement.

For now I can rest comfortably, until the next mouse wanders into my house. Haven’t they heard of going south for the winter?