It happened yesterday. I gazed out my window like I always do when I’m trying to do anything but work, and the Virgin Mary appeared in my driveway. I guess she didn’t exactly appear—I just noticed her face in the coloration of the concrete. Plain as day, sober as an undertaker.
I looked away. I looked back. Yep.
My first thought was: “Rich! I’m rich!” I imagined a long line of devotees each paying a dollar a peek. Maybe I could set up a Snapple stand. Just thinking about all those people milling about my backyard made me question the blessing of it all.
I looked again. She still looked like Mary, but also a bit like one of the cast of Cats, unless Mary has whiskers, which she very well might—they always airbrush that stuff out for the portraits. The lyric “Not a sound from the pavement” occurred to me. There are a lot of Andrew Lloyd Weber fans out there, but I’m not sure they’ll make the pilgrimage to Omaha. My stock is dropping.
So how does one know for sure? When Mary appeared to Diana Duyser in a grilled cheese sandwich a few years ago, the Golden Palace Casino bought it for $28,000. How did they know they had the real thing? I saw it and thought she looked suspiciously like a Ziegfeld Girl. Besides, the sandwich had a bite taken out of it. Doesn’t that lower the value? Who wants a half-eaten Virgin Mary?
They have this going for them: if you Google images and type in “Virgin Mary,” a lot of grilled cheese sandwiches turn up.
Why would Mary appear in my driveway? All I can come up with is this: concrete is 80% sand, and so is The Promised Land.
What should I do when it snows? I don’t feel right shoveling her face. As it is, I’m parking on the other side of the driveway, just to be safe.
Like a vampire, her face doesn’t turn out in photos, or I’d show it to you. Maybe that’s some kind of supernatural rule. I suppose when it comes to trademark infringement, Catholics don’t mess around.
As I write this, my enthusiasm fades. Honestly? Now the face looks more like Chandler from “Friends.” The only entertainment value left is the curiosity of seeing who appears next. MC Hammer? It’s like a parade of has-beens, a driveway episode of “The Love Boat.”
I guess I’ll go back to my usual parking spot, and get back to work.