there's something about Mary

Back in Baltimore, you never knew who was at the front door but y0u had a pretty good idea what they wanted – something that belonged to you. Cab money, money for steaks, your lawnmower, have a long talk w/ your dog.

We finally moved to what I consider the promised land – Arlington, VA – and it wasn't too long before there was a knock at the door. Hello? There were two extremely old ladies on my doorstep. They had a notebook (w/ my name in it), oohed and aahed over my 3-year-old daughter and would I accept Christ into my life?

huh?

Okay, OK, I said, what church are you from? I brought my baby out on the doorstep and closed the front door behind me. The Catholic church way up on Glebe Road?

huh?

The Catholics are going to door-to-door? Really? They were coming to convert, or bring people back, to the Catholic church. Holy cow, I said. Well, they were very nice and very old. I didn't want to be rude and I didn't want to lead them on so I said, No. I'm not interested. We can't talk until The Church changes two of its main rules: Allow my baby daughters to conduct Mass (including consecrating the Eucharist) and love my (gay) brothers. The ladies asked if they could come back (could they really make changes that fast? I pegged it at 250 years) and gave my baby a medal of the Virgin Mary.

About a month later, another pair of old ladies came by. They were following up on the first call. Had The Church changed those rules like I asked? Nope, but the parish priest wanted to meet me. uh, no, I said. You know the rules. I really appreciate the effort, but you know: No. They left behind a brochure of the top 10 reasons people return to the church. No. 1: They yearn for the Eucharist.

A few weeks later, the mailman brought me a letter from the priest. C'mon Back, it read. Straight to the trash.

Later on, I was enjoying one of Washington, D.C.'s oldest traditions – staying late at work. My wife was playing w/ our girls and the neighborhood kids in the cul-de-sac. A car pulled up in front of our house and a man and woman got out. They had notebooks. My name was in them. Yes, they were ancient.

Can I help you, asked The Wife. We're looking for the man who lives here, pointing at my house. Who are you, said The Wife. We're from The Church and we're trying to get your husband back in the fold, and, which of those kids are his?

Out, said The Wife, go. Move. Now. I'm calling the cops. Calling the cops on the Catholic Church!

The Wife called the parish and asked, who the hell are these people who keep coming to our house? Turns out, they're the Legion of Mary (read all about 'em in Wiki): "The essential aim of the Legion of Mary is the sanctification of its members through prayer, the sacraments and devotion to Mary and the Trinity, and of the whole world through the apostolate of the Legion."

Seems they got some zealots in there, too.

The parish says they have no control over this pack of the Legionnaires, but they'd ask real nice for them to stop coming by the house. We'll see.

Oh, and you'll also see in The Wiki under the Legion of Mary: a 1975 project for Jerry Garcia. Now if that LOM wants to come by, I'll bring out some sippin' Bourbon and the boom box for the front stoop.

A friend of the Devil is a friend of mine. But leave the 20 hounds in the car, please.

Testify, Jerry.