Palm Sunday — always an important Sunday for Christians, but it’s especially significant for Polish Catholic expatriates. It’s one of those times when the ceremonies and traditions of Poland shine for a brief moment in our community. What to do when we’re all shut-in like this, though? Continue as usual.
First, breakfast on new, freshly-ironed linen.
Holy Week in a Polish highlander house means the iron is out a lot. There’s all the linens and such, but there’s also much linen in the traditional outfits they wear to Mass, and even though we won’t be going anywhere this year, I fully expect the ironing equipment to stay out for much of the week. (K’s mother always irons on a table: she throws down a couple of blankets and off she goes. She’s tried an ironing board but she’s gotten so used to her table method that she just prefers it, and to be honest, it is more convenient when ironing a table cover.)
First, there’s the palm. K and the Boy went outside to gather blossoms and foliage for the creation, taking some branches from our Leyland cypresses,
some blossoms from our neighbors’ dogwood (surely they won’t mind),
some blooms from the Azealia (same neighbor — surely they won’t mind), as well as a few treasures that grow by our creek.
K picked some fern fronds, nearly falling into the creek in the process, and the Boy discovered a lovely bit of green that he gladly picked to help with the palm background/base.
K thought it was very sweet, his excitement and his willingness to help. Neither of us had the heart to tell him they were weeds. Besides, what are weeds? It’s an arbitrary determination — it’s simply a plant growing where someone doesn’t want it growing. In that sense, even roses can be weeds.
The last element: some of the flowers growing by the creek in our next-door neighbor’s property. K discovered them yesterday when she was going with L and E to see all the work they’d done cleaning the creek.
“Oh, such pretty flowers!” she said. “I shall come here in the early, dew-laden morning to pick some of these treasures.” (Well, that’s not quite what she said, but she’s been listening to the Anne of Green Gables series, and that has a decidedly Anne-esque feel to it, and I feel fairly certain K would have said it if she’d thought of it.)
After breakfast, K leads the kids and Papa through a Palm Sunday service, of sorts, following the directions our local priest sent out. It includes a long reading about Jesus’s trial and crucifixion, at the start of which Papa has to excuse himself temporarily and I head out for a quick walk. When I get back, the reading is still not done. It’s a very long reading.
Lunch, which L and I cooked together, was followed by some outside time, kicking the ball for the dog, shooting arrows and bbs, jumping on the trampoline — the typical things we’ve been doing for years but have done with increased frequency (i.e., almost daily) several weeks now.
After dinner — homemade cinnamon buns — we took K out exploring. She hadn’t been quite the same distance (i.e., to the end of the little woods behind our house, where it drops into the next neighborhood), so we took her for a walk.
Overall, a lovely Sunday. A different Palm Sunday.
Previous Years
Palm Sunday 2019
Palm Sunday 2017
Palm Sunday 2015
Palm Sunday 2014
Palm Sunday 2012
Sixth Sunday of Lent 2013