Palm Sunday is not supposed to be like this: rainy, cold, miserable. The expressions tell the whole story: we’re not pleased with the lack of spring. It makes the whole process somehow just a touch gray, literally and figuratively.

It’s hard to smile when the temperature outside never rises above the low forties, and the rain has been puttering down, on and off, for three days.

Even the Boy, not feeling 100%, got a bit of the Polish-American Gothic vibe.