When my son was young, he and I used to have a traditional way of observing Good Friday. My employer gave us the day off every year, so I welcomed the chance for a mother-and-son day.
It wasn’t all solemn. We often played in the yard or at the park, visited the local pet store where they had baby bunnies available for petting, we visited the cheesy Easter Bunny at the mall and had a picture taken. Then we went to church in the evening, often counting daffodils and forsythia blossoms along the way.
In those days, our church’s Good Friday service incorporated a solo liturgical dance performance, which my son called “the dancing man in the black pajamas.” Before the service was over, my son almost always fell asleep in the pew.
Good times.
Word Nymph 
Beautiful memory…
Yep, good times
Just don’t fall asleep in the pew this year. Amber’s not going to want to carry you out. xo
Makes me think about that picture of you taken on Easter as a kid when you were holding that piece of clay that looked like an ear…
Yes, I remember the dancing man in the black pajamas! And after some services, we visited the “tomb” in the back near the parking lot with Frank. Did you do that?
Actually, I helped build the tomb, along with Christopher Butcher. It was chicken wire and papier-mâché. We made the stone of the same material.
My very favorite Good Friday tradition involved crab cakes ( unspeakably good crab cakes) with very kind friends. It was a one year tradition followed by years of what I call the “waiting on the front stoop for the promised’ tradition to reappear” years.
Alas, life moved on to the Anglican/Mexican-Marguarita tradition celebrated by the choir at a small church in the Close.
All wonderful! I miss the family of friends I knew with these times and hope they know my spirit has never left.
PAX, CDL
I don’t think we’ve had Good Friday crab cakes since that year you were here. I had just been thinking how much I miss you, more so this time of year. I thought of you last night during a moment in the Maundy Thursday service when I was glad you weren’t there. I’ll share why privately.
And I will raise a margarita in your honor today, my friend. For the uninitiated, this is not a choir tradition, but rather a Turner tradition. My parents met in their church choir and had their first date after the Good Friday three hour service. Rich and I have continued that event, often gathering friends to join us. Holy Week is very much our personal stories as they relate to our faith stories.
(But not sure my parents had the margarita part!)
Loved the story. Happy Easter.
Such fond memories are the best we have in our lives, I think.