Here are some almighty scenes that I witnessed from my
Easter Mass at St. Joan of Arc begins promptly at 10:30 a.m.
10:10 a.m. Tan minivan creeps slowly down the street and finds parking comfortably across from my porch. Mom, Dad, and 3 little ones jump out in their Easter Sunday best and make their way up the street in one unified group.
10:16 a.m. Blue SUV finally decides its too big for the tight spot behind the minivan, avoids the large tempting space by the fire hydrant (in front of the minivan), and so makes its way further down the street. Exit Dad, 2 young boys in half-tucked shirts, Mom, and Grandma, walking at a quick, but unified, pace.
10:19 a.m. White 4-door coup slides easily into spot behind van. Older man with silver hair emerges. Hands in pockets, he strolls towards the church whistling.
10: 21 a.m. Gray minivan proceeds quickly down the street and jerks to an abrupt stop in front of the hydrant space. Red car waits patiently in the street and then creeps around the Gray van. Heated debate takes place inside the Gray van between Mom and Dad as gestures are made towards the tan minivan. Dad's shoulders shrug as if to say 'So what if we get a ticket'. Mom's arms flag forward and thus, Ol' Gray rushes further down the street. 2 girls in hats jump out first, one of them is crying, and they walk/run towards the church, Mom follows close behind. Dad strolls behind, shaking his head.
10:24 a.m. Red car reappears and zips into the giant space in front of the hydrant as if to say 'Fug it'. Dad emerges with young son. He looks around guiltily, takes his son by the hand and barrels towards the church, head down. The son jogs to keep up.
10:26 a.m. Black SUV freaking flies down the street. They find parking 6 houses down from Chez Schovillova and a million doors fly open and bodies pour out from all sides. A gaggle of hats, bows, ties and patent leather haul ass up the street. Thinking back I can't confirm the existence of grown ups in that gaggle but I'm assuming there was at least one to drive the car.
10:28 a.m. Another vehicle flies down the street because you know, the risk of taking out a small pedestrian or 2 on Easter Sunday is a lesser evil than the risk of being late for the Mass itself. Man and woman emerge and walk briskly, heads held high, towards the church. White sporty SUV thing flies past and continues down the street.
10:34 a.m. White sporty SUV thing returns from the opposite direction, despite the one-way nature of our street. He assess the approximate distance between bumpers on either side of the hydrant. Howls and shouts of protest are coming from within. 10:35-10:37 a.m., the SUV makes a 20-point turn in the middle of the street, jumping the curb from time to time, and finally aligning itself with the last space in the 205. Dad seems to be weighing the risks of possible ticketing (little do any of these saps know that hydrant never gets ticketed. Ever. It's a well-kept secret in these parts and we prefer to keep it that way.) or possible bumper on bumper action. Mom shakes her head from the front seat, adamantly opposed to the idea. Howling continues. 10:38-10:40 a.m. and this time it's a 20-point parallel parking job - OH THE HORROR! Growing up this was usually around the time that my mom would say 'Fug it' and take us to IHOP instead. It would seem that this Dad was cut from the same mold because after unsuccessfully squeezing into the very last spot, I'm pretty sure that I could read the words fug it on his lips as he pulled back onto the street and so help me I heard cheering from within the vehicle. And so they went. I like to think it was in pursuit of a happier place like IHOP or 'Waffles and Chicken' just down the way.
And so goes my Sunday morning ritual. I'm glad to have you back.