The pecan trees haven’t come into leaf yet. A few stubborn nuts from last year’s crop still cling to the branches. Every spring, the pecan trees are the last to show life. Yet, they have their own stark beauty with the alfalfa and mountains in the background.
I come this way on my way to Mass, and I always enjoy the view as I turn into Watson Lane.
In the market today, I overheard a customer asking the clerk if people were honoring the face mask requirement. “Everyone is so done with face masks, and everyone is in a bad mood,” she replied. (In spite of her comments, everyone was wearing a mask, including the clerk.)
The face mask hadn’t bothered me, but I had been in a bad mood for a few days. Things that didn’t help:
This quiet Lenten season has been a time of peace and reflection for me. Today, we enter the solemn Triduum in preparation for Easter. I will watch the Mass of the Lord’s Supper tonight as it is streamed live from my parish (without the parishioners). This is one of my favorite Masses of the year. I long to receive Holy Communion, but it won’t be possible for me tonight. Yet, I sense there is grace to be received on this quiet day at home.
This morning on television, I watched the Mass celebrated by Pope Francis in Rome. Like many other Catholics, this was the first year in many years that I was unable to attend Mass in person and receive the Holy Eucharist and my palm. I was reminded of several offerings from my husband from previous years.
In the parking lot of our local Albertsons, a man used to sell palms that he had woven into crosses with roses. They were fresh and green, and occasionally my husband brought one home to me. I hung them in my library and kept them. For some time now, they have been dry and dusty, but I still love them.
I wonder about the man who made them and sold them for a few dollars each. I hope he has shelter and something to eat.