Peace and Unity

Fans, pictureless post, but picture this: I (it's Julie in case the use of "fans" didn't give it away; will be dispensing with the third-person narrative for this post), had just picked up the Baby Bird and had her tucked up against my shoulder when she lost her cookies all over my shoulder and down my arm and on the patch of floor behind me. (Not a big spitter upper though; a welcome circumstance given that this was how Our Hero rolled for a long time.) So I set Clara down and was gingerly stripping off my tee-shirt when the doorbell rang. I of course thought, "Whatever." I had just finished mopping my arm off and had turned to the floor when the doorbell rang AGAIN. Seriously? So I quickly threw another tee-shirt on and dashed downstairs.

Fans, maybe you know where this is going. At the door are two men. One older, one younger, both decked out in suits; the older on in a 1950s fedora--a word I use most deliberately as "hat" doesn't say 1950s the way fedora does. His lead off to me: "Do you think we will ever have peace and unity in the world?" That's right, Fans: Jehovah's Witnesses--paying no heed, I might add, to our prominently displayed "No Solicitors" sign. Here is where I am thinking "Where are the dogs when you need them?" (They were on their walk which actually is a good thing. No peace with them around and the doorbell rings.) I stammered that I really didn't know whereupon Mr. Fedora said that he sensed a time crunch (perceptive, Mr. Fedora). I told him I had an infant upstairs who'd just spit up, but as the bell had rung twice, I'd dashed down (read: yes, time is at a premium and I cannot engage in an extended theological discussion at this juncture regarding peace as an entree into my own relationship with God). And STILL, a pamphlet was pressed upon me. Our flowers were complimented as well (no time!), and off I dashed back up the stairs.

Not long after, Clara and I were off to the post office and library and as we left the neighborhood, I spied six other Jehovah's Witnesses all piling back into a minivan on Graham's street. I laughed and said, "Baby Bird, can you believe they caravan-ed it to this neighborhood? The neighborhood in which at least half of the residents spent the past two days celebrating Simchat Torah*? Talk about an uphill battle." Clara can't talk yet of course but I know she was thinking, "Word."

*Simchat Torah is a celebration of the Torah. It is only celebrated by very orthodox Jews. I only know about this because Graham's daycare was closed in its observance and Sara told me.