Sunday Surprise

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A lone black bicycle secured to the wrought-iron cemetery fence had me imagining a young man, possibly one of the immigrants I so often see earnestly pedaling to get to possible jobs at early morning hours with no resources other than his own two feet. Then as I climbed into the car after Sunday Mass, a woman dressed all in blue approached the bicycle and began to fumble with the lock. My astonishment and subsequent snapshot caught her attention, so I felt compelled to speak with her.
Her eyes were piercingly-bright blue and her name, she said, was Maria. Not stopping her intent work of preparing the bicycle for departure, she continued to speak with me, in English and in Italian. Her age, she mentioned, was six years more than me. We chatted for a while about her life in America from Italy, my Italian heritage and so many things in between for a mere ten minutes. We pleasantly wished each other well and vowed to meet again at a future, undetermined Italian Sunday Mass. Today, by coincidence, is the 37th anniversary of my grandmother’s passing. Her name? Maria.
Conclusion? Messages of love and connection emerge constantly in our lives. We need only have the spirit and desire to interpret them for our souls.

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