Church this morning was standing room only, rows upon rows of be-hatted women and seersucker suit-ed men fanning themselves with programs. The fashion was truly stunning, everyone starched and well pressed and pastel as you please. From my vantage point in the second story choir loft at the back of the sanctuary, I was able to properly gape at some of the Kentucky Derby level o’ fancy that crammed into the pews. The AC would have struggled to keep such a mass of well-dressed uptown New Orleanians from showing unsightly sweat stains in any case, but as it was broken, we really had no chance of staying dry and wrinkle free. I will admit to a bit of wicked glee at watching the rich ladies’ hats wilt in the heat.
All doors were flung open to stimulate air flow, so the whole service was charmingly accompanied by the sounds of streetcars rattling by every handful of minutes. A small, ivy covered cross stood by the altar, and the service began with dozens of beautifully dressed children pouring up the center aisle holding armfuls of daisies. They milled about the little cross and covered it in flowers, then littered flowers around the floor, while horns and trumpets and timpani played above. A delightful tradition, one I’ve never seen a church do before. Last Sunday the children processed with palms. This church likes its beabs front and center.
I listened to the service with half an ear, as usual, directing the non-cooled air vent at my boiling self and jotting notes about the scene on my program. My thoughts on faith and God and the resurrection and the cross and all of these things are still in flux, and probably always will be, but nevertheless I am pleased to go to church each Sunday, to bring our son(s) and let them bask in the glow of the friendly and charitable atmosphere, and learn about acts of service and charity – a focus for this church and most churches I’ve attended (for all organized religion’s bad rap as The Source of the Twin Evils of Religious War and Self-Righteous Judgment). They can believe as they will when eventually they learn to think for themselves, but for now I know Jack’s favorite time of the week is playing with the other kids in the nursery, and then enjoying a “big boy cup” of lemonade and a cookie in the fellowship hall before we go home. This is where he will start attending preschool next fall, and I can only imagine how we’ll have to fight to get him to come home at the end of every day.
Early this morning, before we’d dressed ourselves in our spring finery, we took Jack to the front porch to find three filled baskets on the patio table – one for him, one for his brother-to-be (I couldn’t help it!), and one for mom and dad to share. He immediately snatched the pinwheel out of his and banged it on the ground until it broke. Then I pointed out the colored plastic eggs that were hidden around our tiny porch, and he spent a happy few minutes hunting them all down. He was a pro – we’ve just returned from a week at my parents’ house in Nashville, and we’d done the Easter morning egg and basket hunt there, too, on Friday. He’d found hardboiled eggs inside and plastic ones outside, getting a huge “Yaaaaaay!!” from all of us each time he plucked one from its hiding place, so he knew what egg-hunting was all about. He also knows what foil-wrapped chocolate looks like, and what it tastes like, so we’ve got a repeat of our Halloween candy monster.
Now he’s napping in just a diaper, hugging bear and coughing a little from a cold he got at Nana’s house. We have grocery shopping to do, and some organizing to get ready for the busy week ahead. We have special visitors coming in a few days, visitors whose visit merits such an in-depth cleaning that I even have to bust out the silver polish. I’m in a little play at school which rehearses all week and goes up on Friday, one night only. And a certain little boy’s birthday is coming up soon – !!! I have a video to make, a party to plan, some gifts to buy and wrap. And the day after he turns two, I have my first final! So, I’m going to go be productive. In lieu of an ending, here are some photos.