Sunday, March 28, 2010

opening day (m)

Palm Sunday.  My mother and husband head to Mass.  I arrived later as I had to drop Harrison off at a friend's house first.  My mother already has her palms in her hands.  I got mine after the Mass and offered to give mine to her.  "No.  Those weren't blessed by the priest.  Mine were.  I don't want those."

I took my heathen palms with me.  Later on, while driving my mother home, she asks me to take her to the cemetery where my father and her sister and brother are buried.  She wants to put the palms on their graves....a tradition among many Italian Catholics (they even sold palms at Costco this year, braided into the shape of a crucifix).

As we approach the cemetery, my mother shrieks "It's open!"  I look up.  The local Dairy Maid, maker of her favorite soft serve ice cream, has just opened for the season.  It's almost 6 p.m.  I told her we had to go to the cemetery first because it would spook me to be there after dark.

I noticed she rushed through her duties at the cemetery but wasn't sure why.  I told her my palms may have gotten mixed with hers.

"Who cares?...hurry up....I want to get to Dairy Maid before it closes."

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