Palm Sunday

My Sundays start out rather predictably. I walk to early Mass. No, not the 6 a.m. service, the 8 a.m. one. It's cooler then, less noisy and crowded, no hoons barreling down the street-perfect for a 12 minute walk. First sign of life I pass are the motorcycle enthusiasts breakfasting at Farrell's restaurant at the corner of my street and the main road. This Sunday there were were 19 "bikies" hanging out at one super extended outdoor table. Hardly a gang, these folks are 55 (if a day) and not even a threat to the cute waitresses Farrell's tends to employ. I cross the main road and observe the maintenance guy for the Broken Hill sweeping up the courtyard. The predictable detritus of a Saturday night at the pub but sometimes there's stuff you don't want to know about, so I'll skip it. He hoses down the steps leading to the door. The Broken Hill is no longer the dive it once was, yuppies like sterilized steps.

Palm Sunday service held a surprise. I'm used to just picking up a palm frond provided by the church upon entering. Here, it is BYO. And true to the Italian neighborhood that it is, most people had olive branches. Some were clusters bound to look like a bush, others carried little more than a twig with two olives dangling from it. A few gum tree branches surfaced and a nice lady mowed down a sharp palm bush to provide extras for those who forgot. Another sign that it is an Italian neighborhood church: the organist, in her tired off-key voice, sings all responses and most hymns in Italian. sotto voce

I usually take a different path home. I almost always have letters to mail, so I detour to the post office, which is right across the street from Tammy's Bakery [open 7 days and run by a woman named Effie.] I never buy but I sure do breath deeply as I pass the open door. I then go up a different street, a bit of a hill, but there are a twin pair of agave plants I have to monitor progress of (they look like giant asparagus) and a stately white home that looks humorously cockeyed on the steep hill. After that, it is all down hill (ha ha) and all bets are off on how Sunday continues.