A Sunday Afternoon

The weather report indicated a threat of rain both here and at the beach. In fact, the beach report said rain likely from 10 to 4 or so; clouds or rains would ruin a day trip there. I settled on a trip to a nearby Unitarian congregation in the late morning. On the way in, feeling late, a man introduced himself as Ken and I exchanged greetings hurriedly. Not until I was on my way in did I realize he was the minister. If he wasn’t late, well, then surely I shouldn’t feel that way either! The church inhabits a 1920’s era building with copious period stained glass in vivid blues and reds with lots of structural wood beams and paneling. A greeter bid me good morning and offered a program with many flyers advertising a variety of church activities. While waiting I learned of a craft show, the legendary pumpkin carving contest and other activities.

I took a seat in the back third of the church with a hymnal handy. The service started with a gentleman reading several announcements from a lectern at the altar. Following him, a gentle lady, Linda, called all to order and asked everyone to greet each other and offer peace. En masse, congregants stood and a cacophony of greetings, hugs and chatter permeated the facility, creating quite a lively image. After several minutes, Linda, who’d joined the crowd, hurried back to the lectern and tried, at first unsuccessfully, to bring order back to the congregation. Her voice becoming more stern, folks eventually, almost with a certain reluctance, made their way back to their respective pews and gave their attention to the front in silence.

Once the order of the service was underway, a good number of congregants, running late, came tiptoeing into the back and a group of three (that were together) sat to my right. When it came time to sing hymns, the fellow next to me at first fumbled with finding the number in his book. I held mine in his direction and he smiled and looked on with mine. By the third hymn, he didn’t bother trying to find it in his, but just joined me by looking on with mine.

After the service, I stayed seated for a while and was approached by Jack. He’d asked me if I was a visitor and then we chatted about the church building, its age and the over 150 year congregation. He said that Unitarians, descended from the early congregational churches that were chiefly Christian, had evolved to welcome people of all levels of belief from atheists and agnostics, Jews, Christians and Buddhists like himself. He found the combination created an interesting dynamic that sometimes put groups of congregants at odds with one another at times, yet manage to hold together because of a set of core beliefs.

Once Jack bid his farewell and extended an invitation to have coffee in the garden behind the church, I lingered for a time in the lobby looking at a variety of fliers and notices and then made my way to the parking lot, passing through the coffee area outside and offering greetings to several people along the way. Several cars in the parking lot sported anti-war bumper stickers and other liberal-leaning sayings. A definitely more comfortable environment than I’d lived in for so many years.

Returning to the apartment, I struggled with the best way to spend the afternoon. No sight of rain or clouds and temperatures in the eighties. After some reading and web browsing, I decided to find an ice cream parlor in Chestnut Hill that I’d passed in the car in my wanderings and been tempted by in the past.

Just into Chestnut Hill on Germantown Road, the police had erected blockades and suddenly traffic began to crawl. Cars were parked tightly on both sides of the street and also on the side streets we were forced to turn onto. I turned left and took a parking space that another car had just vacated and walked down to Germantown Road to see that an Arts Festival was underway.

In close quarters with others, I strolled past a band with a woman guitarist and vocalist filling the air with music; an elderly gentleman dancing in front of the musicians, people eating from various food stands, vendors with artsy wares, a table selling pretzels and water benefiting a local school, a medical table dispensing flu shots. I’d wanted one of those and with no money on me walked onward in search of my bank. Found the bank several blocks up. No ATM. I walked to the back passing a fried dough smell. People with funnels cakes were scurrying past. The ATM was in the back and, after inquiring on account balances (two households and a high monthly credit card bill are draining the available cash) I took out some cash and made my way back down the street. Moving slowly with the crowd, I passed Mario’s famous sausage and peppers, onions and mushroom sandwich sign. Have to get one of those later.

Eventually I made it to the flu shot table. I filled out the disclosure form, asked the cost (twenty-five dollars) and gave $40 to the woman behind the table. “Bet you didn’t know you were comin’ here for this today,“ she said. “Change,” she called out to the two women standing behind her, while the smiling man in nursing attire to my left asked me to sit down if I was ready. The woman asked me which arm and I felt that my left would be a good choice today.

“Roll up your sleeve. You might need to hold it up. You’ll feel one quick prick and before you know it, it’ll all be over.” A quick pinch, then success! “Good job,” I said.

Standing, without change yet, I walked back to the woman behind the table. “We’re working on it.” Turning away from me, she said, “we really to straighten that out. We have the change in there, you just haven’t been taking care of it right.” Frantically helping out her colleagues and then going through each other’s pockets and wallets, they came up with change.

Counting. A dollar short. More searching. Got it!

I was on my way down the street in search of the ice cream parlor. Toward the end of the blocked-off street was the parlor. A line. The woman in front of me, children in tow, says to them, “have we had any real food to eat yet today? What a long line!” They turned around and left. After waiting for a while....should it be Moose Tracks? Strawberry? Sundaes? The Fluffernutter was tempting given the marshmallow emphasis. No, too expensive. A scoop, more reasonable. “May I help you?” A young fellow was looking at me, waiting. “Butterscotch Vanilla,” I said. “A scoop.“

“A cup,“ he asked. I nodded. Grabbing a cup behind him, he hurried off. Returning in a moment, cup in hand, he said, “three fifteen.” I passed three to him and started digging in my pockets. Quarters. Ah, a dime. Seems like it’s taking a long time...ah, a nickel too. I handed them to him. He smiled, looked me over. Smiled again, with a lingering glance. I grabbed a few napkins from the holder on the counter, said thanks and stepped outside, cup and spoon in hand.

I found a piece of wall to lean on near a bench with several older ladies sitting with cones. A man with yarmulke looks inside, turns around and says to his very pregnant wife, “no tables inside.” A friend of theirs looks at me and says, “we’re trying to find a place to sit.” I motioned to the bench near me. They looked and then started walking. “Would you be okay sitting on the grass,” I heard as they walked down the street.

Finishing my generous scoop, the woman with children in tow stepped out of the bakery next door and all had some confection. One had an eclair, another a cake, and, while nibbling, were looking with wonder at the orange and black, pumpkin-shaped and Halloween-themed cakes in the window.

With a pre-meal dessert finished, I decided I’d eat here today and went in search of the table with pretzels and water. Kept walking....it didn’t seem like it was this far, but must’ve been! Finally. “Pretzels! Did you want to have a pretzel?”
I nodded. “Just take which ever one you want. It’s a dollar.” I handed him four quarters. There were two to a bag. Why not, I’ll take two. I checked the sign and it said two for a dollar. Save one for later or tomorrow. Eating one, I made my way up the street in search of the famous sausage sandwich.

A Subaru dealer with cars on the side of the street distracted me. “It’s getting near to closing time for this and the people keep coming,“ says one of the salesmen to his colleague. I wandered to the Outback, an outdoorsy wagon. Door was unlocked so I sat inside. Eyeglass holder, glove box, all panels with cubbies and doors gently open with a touch and close without a sound. Nice interior, moon roof even.
I stepped out and looked at the sticker. $25,995. Not too bad, I suppose. Gas mileage of 20 and 27. Now that could or should be higher. I walked around and opened the back hatch. There was a heavy duty rubberized floor mat covering the entire back that was removable. Nice touch. The bicycle would even fit back here, especially with the seat down. The hatch shuts gently and quietly. I picked up some Outback literature from a nearby table.

Continuing on my way, I found the sandwich booth and asked for the sausage, peppers, onions and mushroom sandwich. The woman behind the table turned to her right and asked for one from the baseball capped helper. She opened an Italian roll, put it in a plastic bowl, poured a healthy helping of the sausage concoction inside and handed it to me. “Three dollars,” as I handed it over. Grabbing napkins I went in search of a place to sit. Across the street was a raised brick walkway in front of a store where I settled down. Tried to lift the sandwich and couldn’t do it. Next to me sat a father and his daughter with the same thing, she struggling to bite the sandwich with messy success. He shouts across the street, presumably to his wife, “get a fork.” Back to the table in search of a fork.

Fork in hand and returning to my spot, I proceeded to eat the famous sausage sandwich. A couple strolling down the street with two small children stop just to my right while the woman makes a phone call. The children sit down next to me, playing with leaves. One lands on my shoe. The man says, “Ethan, don’t be bothering other people with stuff like that. Good boy.”

The father looked away and I handed Ethan the leaf. He pulled his arm and shoulder away from my direction....he sure didn’t want it from me!

I got up in search of a waste basket and spotted one behind the sausage sandwich booth. Pitching the bowl and fork, I proceeded down the street. Noticed the gentleman and his wife with little Ethan on the other side of the street, keeping the same pace with me down the left side of the street. Looking at the arts and crafts booths on my right, I made my way back. I turned at the band for the side street with my car’s resting place. The elderly gentleman was still dancing in front of the musicians. Looked at my watch and it was two hours since I’d last passed him.