Lent

The word alone is enough to bring back the memories.

The half-pint milk carton Rice Bowl, held in reverent hands whilst walking - straight line and "Is that you I hear whispering, Miss Crosby?" - little green plaid ducks behind our black robed mother bride-of-Christ Sister Concepta. Black linoleum block floors, scuffed to a high shine. The smell of the weekly Friday pierogie sale wafting down the hall, mingling with the cleanser aroma that said "Bernie the Janitor was here". Painted cinder block walls - thick, thick coats of paint - adorned with the last week's art project, a purple outline ditto page - smell it fresh off the roller, mmmm - a picture of a cross with lillies to color. Fuzzy knee socks, itching, "Is something wrong? Then stand up straight!" Shiny topped desk, so smooth but the metal underneath rough with pink chipped paint - place the little box inside and sit and wait, hands folded, wait for your turn, your envelope, your Pizza Day receipt, no meat on Friday. "Remember, while you're at luch, remember those children, those starving children."

I suffer, I suffer, I suffer. And then...

Jelly beans. Chocolate eggs. An LP - From Elvis Presley Boulevard, Memphis, Tennessee. What?