Eddie is baptized Sunday morning at St. Paul’s Lutheran Church. The family takes up an entire pew. Undoubtedly, it’s Dale’s first visit to a church sanctuary in a long time, not to mention Kim and Larry and Barb and Paul and JoAnna and Andy. It’s the lapsed Christian contingent. The rite takes place after the singing of the processional and baptismal hymns – all verses of both. Andy accompanies Barb, JoAnna, and me to the front of the church. Without a hymnal or a bulletin insert, I have no clue as to what is going on. When it is time to make the presentation, there is an uncomfortable moment of silence. Someone finally hands me a program and I made the proper response. Pastor Risher assists Dad, whose hesitant reading of the Order for Baptism is so unlike his assured style before retirement.
Andy is surprisingly well-behaved during the first half of the church service. He acts no worse, no better than any other soon-to-be 4 year old. I don’t trust him to stay under control during the sermon, so I escort him to the nursery room. He’s been here before and has no problem when I immediately return to the sanctuary. I made a special effort not to concentrate on the sermon, preferring to daydream contentedly as a breeze entering from a nearby open window caresses my face. I browse through a virtual library of childhood images. These will have to be catalogued at a later time.
By early afternoon, the schedule of Sunday events has been changed repeatedly. A picnic at Larry and Kim’s “country estate” was the original plan. That changed to a visit to Renee’s cottage – at least for JoAnna and me and the boys. Barb Lucia calls at noon and informs me that she has other plans for the day and that Mardi has just told her that she is having a houseful of company today. So I call Renee and tell her we’ll be out to see her tomorrow and hope that we can all synchronize our personal schedules for this long-awaited reunion.
Larry and Kim both have other plans for the afternoon so it’s too late to salvage the picnic for today. JoAnna and I now have a wide-open day on our hands.
I take two walks, one on my own to buy newspapers. The second is with JoAnna and Eddie (in the stroller) for the simple purpose of getting some exercise. Our route: Conewango to Jackson to Hertzel to Pennsylvania to Buchanan to Third. Eddie is asleep by the time we finish this circuit, an amazing feat considering the condition of Warren’s sidewalks. Such infrastructure deterioration forces me to look at my adopted hometown with a more critical eye. Although the majority of homeowners appear to be concerned about the appearance of their investments, a substantial number are obviously not. Walk around Warren and you will see a lot of “painted ladies”, house whose exteriors are enlivened with a tricolor (or more) paint scheme. But in some neighborhoods, you will see troublesome signs of neglect and deterioration. Case in point: Buchanan Street from Pennsylvania Avenue East to Jefferson Street. The house on the corner of Glenwood and Buchanan exemplifies this trend: peeling paint on all sides of the structure, rotting porch timbers, faded and weatherworn roof shingles, nonexistent landscaping. Granted, this area of Warren has always been a working-class neighborhood. And, unfortunately, there are very few exceptions to the new rule along this four-block stretch. If time ever becomes a luxury in my life, I’ll plan a thorough walking tour of Warren, with an eye to grading the appearance of Warren’s buildings.
We have pizza and beer for supper. Actually, Barb and I are the only ones who drink beer. After eating, Kim suggests a visit to the Market Street School playground. Andy loves it here; there is so much to do on the rambling configuration of wood beams, steel posts, and molded plastic that has been set up just south of the school. Unfortunately, there’s nothing for Eddie to do, not even a swing, so I have to hold him the entire time we are there. Once the boys are ready for bed, the adults play Scattergories. This game amuses me for one or two rounds, but after that I quickly lose interest. I am the first one to excuse myself to go to bed.
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