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Easter Monday / Patriot's Day
Apr. 21st, 2003 01:01 pmNow that the weather's nicer, I'm taking up driving practice again; we just went out to Trader Joe's and I am slightly ahead of the game: I avoided three potential accidents that would have been caused by the stupidity of other people, and almost caused only two through my own.
Saturday was spent in a liminal state of constant expectation. We had written off most of the afternoon for historical reenactors and J.'s sister; the reenactors ended up not coming except to drop by to say hello and that they couldn't stay, and J.'s sister, through a combination of bad traffic and getting lost, was two hours later than announced.
Sunday was Easter, as perhaps some of you have heard. We drove down to Alewife and treated J.'s two-year-old niece to her first ride on a train. At a quasi-French boulangerie et patisserie on Charles Street we met J.'s partly French-descended parents and ate decidedly non-French pannetone that J. had baked and drank the house's weak coffee that no country should be proud to claim. Thence to the Episcopalian church around the corner for a lengthy service rather more soporific than I had anticipated, even from past experience of Easter services there. But there was a pretty 16th-century motet "Ecce vicit leo" ("Hey look, the lion won") and a sermon that made me think of Captain Kirk at his most earnest; and those Episcopalians know how to party down afterwards with champagne and blue cheese in their "coffee" hour.
J. skipped out on most of the service by taking her unruly niece out for a swan-boat ride.
(It is interesting -- well, I leave the ultimate interestingness for you to decide here -- to compare worship services such as I have known. One thing I'll say for my mother's fundamentalist church is that it is rarely dull, although more likely to upset me. Interesting also -- perhaps -- the difference between the majestic ritual of high church and the "just some people gettin' together to praise Jesus"-ness of the fundies, and how it is in the latter where people are more likely to feel they have found the miraculous.)
Anyway. We came back to Salem, watched the antics of young niece and her Quest For Eggs, and ate kielbasa and pierogies, a family tradition now that it has been done twice in three years.
---
I've missed some birthdays; happy belated.
Saturday was spent in a liminal state of constant expectation. We had written off most of the afternoon for historical reenactors and J.'s sister; the reenactors ended up not coming except to drop by to say hello and that they couldn't stay, and J.'s sister, through a combination of bad traffic and getting lost, was two hours later than announced.
Sunday was Easter, as perhaps some of you have heard. We drove down to Alewife and treated J.'s two-year-old niece to her first ride on a train. At a quasi-French boulangerie et patisserie on Charles Street we met J.'s partly French-descended parents and ate decidedly non-French pannetone that J. had baked and drank the house's weak coffee that no country should be proud to claim. Thence to the Episcopalian church around the corner for a lengthy service rather more soporific than I had anticipated, even from past experience of Easter services there. But there was a pretty 16th-century motet "Ecce vicit leo" ("Hey look, the lion won") and a sermon that made me think of Captain Kirk at his most earnest; and those Episcopalians know how to party down afterwards with champagne and blue cheese in their "coffee" hour.
J. skipped out on most of the service by taking her unruly niece out for a swan-boat ride.
(It is interesting -- well, I leave the ultimate interestingness for you to decide here -- to compare worship services such as I have known. One thing I'll say for my mother's fundamentalist church is that it is rarely dull, although more likely to upset me. Interesting also -- perhaps -- the difference between the majestic ritual of high church and the "just some people gettin' together to praise Jesus"-ness of the fundies, and how it is in the latter where people are more likely to feel they have found the miraculous.)
Anyway. We came back to Salem, watched the antics of young niece and her Quest For Eggs, and ate kielbasa and pierogies, a family tradition now that it has been done twice in three years.
---
I've missed some birthdays; happy belated.
