I can't say Purcell didn't give us some warning, which he believed would help us have a more serene encounter with reality. He returned on Super Tuesday, which was also Mardi Gras. It was a beautiful sunny day with spring in the air, and when I went to vote at the Stella Rondo Elementary School multi-purpose room I saw lots of boys on the playground wearing pioneer-lady dresses over their jeans. Bronson told me later that the tradition is for sixth graders to raid the school drama closet and put on the craziest outfits they can think of, along with strings of plastic beads, for their annual Mardi Gras party (part of their study of world religions).
The other colorful religious figure out that day was an orange-robed monk walking through the neighborhood. One woman in the voting line claimed she had seen him plant an Obama sign in someone's yard. She seemed extremely concerned about the possibility, and was not at all reassured by the woman who cheerfully doubted her story, saying, "Well, the saffron robes mean he's Tibetan, not Muslim, and why would a Tibetan monk put out signs for Obama?"
Late in the day, as the sun was throwing shadows across the yards and turning all the election signs from red and blue to purple, our doorbell rang. I was at my computer working on my Croutonpie recipe book, and doing my best to ignore the dogs' whining and Amber's squeals as they noticed someone cross the lawn under the oak tree and come up to the front door. After a rainy winter and too much shade from the oak, I have to admit the lawn was looking a bit thin and shabby, and the big bay window needed washing, so perhaps that is why I barely caught a glimpse of saffron from the corner of my eye. That glimpse did not prepare me for what happened next.
