Friday, April 9, 2004 (Good Friday)
	She invited me to her house to eat buttermilk pancakes and then attend a Good Friday evening procession with other members of her church.
	"Hi Norm," says the woman.  I met her only a few days ago at a wake and I liked her straight away and now I'm standing inside her small stucco home. "How are you?" I say then extending my hand.     "Happy Good Friday," she says.  She shakes my hand and then casually kisses the side of my face.  I'd like to pull her close and dock my face between her breasts where it's safe and cry for a good long while but I don't do that either and instead I say:  "I smell somethin' good."  "Hope you like pancakes," she says. My deceased grandfather nearly died once while eating pancakes at a truck stop off a road called Alligator Alley near Miami. "I love pancakes," I say. "You sit there and I'll sit here," she says then sitting. "He said they looked alright on the outside but they were powdery and not cooked on the inside," I say aloud.   "What are you talking about?" says the woman.  "He put the pancake in his mouth and then he started coughing up flour and whatever else it is they put inside a pancake and he couldn't get air so he started kicking the the heel of his shoe onto his plate and onto the chrome plated napkin dispenser and even onto a ketchup bottle (breaking it) and no one could hear him 'cause the song Boot Scoot Boogie was blasting out of the juke box," I say. "Who are we talking about?" she says then pouring more orange juice into my glass.    "My grandfather," I say.  "He 'bout died while eating a pancake in a crowded truck stop." "Jeez," she says. "Can you imagine suffocating to death 'cause of a damn pancake and while you're dying you have no other options but to bust shit up with the heel of your shoe and be forced to listen to Boot Scoot Boogie while you're doing it?" I say. "Madness," she says.  She's stopped chewing and for a few seconds she just looks at me. After a pause I say: "Your pancakes are excellent." That night we carried lighted candles and followed the procession of the Epitaph. Along the route people scattered flowers and perfumes on the Epitaphios (bier). The bier represents Christ's funeral and on Friday evening it's decorated with gold cloth and fresh flowers. PREVIOUS   HOME   NEXT