About now, we'd be sitting down to Sunday dinner. Dad would have preferred it sooner, but mom could only go so fast. And if my father had been less ;ocuatious during his sermon, and hadn't asked Mr. Bowers to pray (Mr. Bowers never prayed for less than 20 minutes), he would have had dinner earlier. But I digress.
On Palm Sunday we had lamb. Leg of lamb to be specific. No matter what, we had lamb. We all loved lamb, especially the way my mom made it. She served it with mashed potatoes, peas, and pickled beets. For dessert (yes on Palm Sunday we had dessert) she made jello with canned peach slices in it. That was another favorite. Did I mention that it was cherry jello? Who knew that cherry jello and peaches tasted good together? I wonder now if having lamb was symbolic in some way of our Lord's becoming our sacrifical lamb.
Anyway at this time we are sitting down to dinner. Dad is very hungry. We're expecting a short "grace" before we dive in. But, in my father's best tradition, he offers a grace that isn't our usual "Thank you Jesus for this food. Amen", but he becomes verbose and prays for at least five minutes -- until the giggles begin, then he opens one eye to see who's giggling, continues for a couple more minutes, then says, "Amen."
We dive in, grateful that he's done preaching, pestering, and praying -- in that order -- and we can finally EAT!!!!!