A Philadelphia Story

I'm heading back north to Maine this afternoon (yippee!!) but not before making several stops at local purveyors to stock up on all those goodies not readily available in Otisfield, Maine.

I grab my reusable bags--no paper or plastic for me--and my large, red shopping cart and head out this morning. First stop, Metropolitan Bakery where I purchase all the available pumpernickel bread among other things. Then head across the square to DiBruno's, where I spend a large amount of money on everything that Steve loves--cheese, salami and various antipasti. Last but least, I trek down to the Reading Terminal Market to buy Jersey tomatoes and corn for tonight's dinner in Maine.

The market is bustling as always with a diverse crowd of shoppers and eaters. Before beginning my shopping, I sit down to eat my lunch across from a young Asian girl furiously typing on her computer. In front of me is a table full of nuns eating pizza and soda and having a great time. And these are no modern nuns wearing sensible shoes and tailored shirtdresses. No, these ladies are dressed in burka-like black flowing robes to the floor and full black or white wimples that show not one wisp of hair. Each ensemble is acessorized by a heavy crucifix on the front of the dress and another one hanging down from the waist. The effect is quite medieval. What's really spooky is that they are all young, early 20's at most, with clear white skin and rosy cheeks.

I ask one of them where they are from thinking perhaps they are here for some kind of convention or retreat. "We're from upstate New York," she says. "We're on vacation for a day," she adds and hands me a devotion card with a picture of a bleeding heart surrounded by a crown of thorns on the front and a prayer printed on the back. "This is what we pray every day," she says with a big smile on her face. "Would you like it?" How can I refuse.