Time Flies

Weeks One Hundred and Thirty-Three, Thirty-Four, Thirty-Five, Thirty-Six, Thirty-Seven, and Thirty-Eight And Yes, You Read That Right

Never fear, good people - I’m back!  As predicted, The Tour bypassed the month of March (okay, okay – and a bit of April).  In that time, however, I was, first and foremost, able to thoroughly enjoy a series of spring breakers returning home from their respective higher institutions of learning.  Ironically, I think it’s harder seeing them leave after the short visits than it was seeing them off to college the first time. 

Because we weren’t going to be at full complement for Easter, we had our own Easter Sunday celebration a few weeks early.  Hey, Easter changes its date on the calendar every year anyway, right?  In spite of much initial resistance to my idea, I won out.  The whole gang came home, and we enjoyed a day of absolutely beautiful weather, attended mass together, shared Easter baskets, and ate a delicious meal or two, making it one of our best Easters ever.

On the last weekend of March, I had every intention of visiting St. John the Evangelist in Deer Park . . . until I stepped out of the house to leave for mass.  There, on our back walkway, stood a perfect Pembroke Welsh Corgi.  No ID tags.  Now, you have to understand a few things:  First, I love animals.  Second, I love dogs.  Third, I adore corgis, so clearly, this was a win-win-win situation.  Our house is well-known in the neighborhood as the Home for Unwanted, Lost, Orphaned, and Injured Animals.  I’m sure there’s a “Safe Haven” sign somewhere on our house – one that only animals can see, thankfully.  Cats, dogs, even a parakeet have made their way here, so I’m not complaining – finding a lost soul makes my day, but to find a lost corgi on my back step was beyond my wildest dreams.  Any plans for mass went out the window, and before you knew it, this little guy was making himself at home in our living room, even helping himself to our own dog’s toys.  Oh, of course, I knew I couldn’t keep him, and after a few hours and several dozen phone calls, I was able to reunite dog with owner . . . reluctantly – and I say that on behalf of my own sentiments as well as the dog’s welfare.  Sigh.   

More recently, with the possibilities for our “real” Easter Sunday mass wide open, I opted out of the carnival atmosphere found on the home turf for the most sincere church I could remember, and I think I succeeded – St. Anthony Friary.  As you may or may not recall, this wasn’t my first visit to St. Anthony (“St. Francis is my Hero,” October, 2010), and frankly, this week definitely wasn’t my last.  I like this little church.  The Franciscans run a clean, well-kept establishment, and, as mentioned in my previous post, it’s hard to ignore the fact that the individuals who attend mass here want to attend mass here.  It makes a difference, and it’s nice.

It was SRO at St. Anthony on this Easter Sunday, but no one seemed to mind.  Everyone seemed happy and polite, and the weather was ideal.  It was close to perfect leaving mass, as the bells tolled the “good news” of Easter Sunday.  Easter has always been my favorite holiday, and it’s moments like this that remind my why.