Nurse Vivian only ever once pulled an April Fool’s Day joke on me. She ran into my bedroom, threw open the curtain and said, “Look Kevin, there’s a circus in town.” There was no circus, never once in South Ozone Park, unless of course, you consider Brother X and Brother Not X to be a clown act.
We’re a little bit country, a little bit rock ‘n roll in the outer, outer, outer Excelsior. Zane goes to public school, so he is off the week before this week, and Aidan goes to parochial school, so he is off the next week. This saves me from having to take the family on a spring break vacation, but makes scheduling my husband Brian’s four jobs, and my two jobs a little difficult.
What we do know is that all four of us will be off on Sunday, April 1st, which is the first time that Easter has fallen on April Fool’s Day since 1956, which was before even I was born. Easter Fool’s Day. Someone should have thought of this a lot earlier, because it’s a great way to mix the sacred with the profane. The Fisher-Paulsons think of ourselves in the Roman branch of Christianity, but in truth we are Secular Catholics: we go in for the culture and the singing, but generally skip out on the genuflecting parts.
Before Brian and I ever drove those seven Pekingese’s across the country, in our great escape from New Jersey, we had read Armistead Maupin’s Tales of the City. So when we got there we found the Irish Coffee at the Buena Vista Café, and we knew to pronounce the chocolate “Gear-uh-deli” (or should I say “see”?), and I figured that round about the first Sunday after the first full moon after the vernal equinox, I would get to the Sunrise Easter service on Mount Davidson. Here’s today’s fun facts: the 103-foot cross on top of Mount Davidson was built specifically to host the Easter Service. It was made out of concrete because the one before it burned down.
Never did get to that service. This wasn’t a crisis of faith as much as a crisis of caffeine. The notion of climbing to the highest point in San Francisco by six-thirty in the morning just seemed daunting. This will be its 93rd year, and I still doubt I can make it up that mountain. More likely, we will go to Most Holy Redeemer in the Castro, where they have their Easter Vigil at a respectable hour, and the next morning in the Bedlam Bungalow, I can throw a vegan ham into the oven, and ready for Easter dinner with the SASBs.
Sigh. Brian, Zane and Aidan all hate lamb. Mordecai turned vegan for his mid-life crisis. Sasb is just about the only diner at the table easy to please (“if it goes with wine, it’s good.”), so I might be serving raw carrots with Pinot Grigio. It is one of two days a year the Brian bakes bread, and that is just about all the holiday we need. That and family.
But we’ll miss the five hundred other events in the rest of Fran Sancisco. That’s the problem with this city: too many damn things to do. There’s the flower show at Macy*s, this year called “Once Upon a Springtime.” There’s the Easter Egg Hunt at Fort Mason, on Easter Sunday from 10 to 11.
If you’ve got a bonnet, hop on down to the 27th Annual Union Street Spring Celebration, begin at 2 pm. It’s the “biggest little parade in San Francisco.” There will egg rolls, egg tosses, a bunny hop and best hat award.
And speaking of the sacred and the profane, The Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence, a fabulous order of queer nuns, are hosting their 39th Easter Celebration, this year at Golden Gate Park, in the West Hellman Hellman Hollow. The theme this year is “Sacred Jesters and Wise Fools.” Get the kids in early (10-12) for the egg hunt and face painting (mascara not included), Stay for the Easter Bonnet contest then get the kids out, cause after comes the truly secular Catholic stuff: Hunky Jesus and Foxy Mary contest.
And for the not-quite sacred, and not-quite profane, San Francisco will host its 40th Annual St. Stupid’s Day parade, on Sunday, April Fool’s Day, starting at the Transamerica Pyramid and meandering through the stations of the stupid over to Washington Park. Wear something silly, bring confetti and prepare to be dazzled by the two-and-a-half-minute talent show.
The difference between South Ozone Park and Fran Sancisco? Here, there’s always a circus in town.