Every Sunday, women line up by the church across the street from my house to sell homemade tamales. They reach into the deep plastic trash bags that line their shopping push carts to pull out chicken mole. Pork. Spicy jalapeno. $1 each. At the Parade Grounds nearby, you can buy tamales made with green olives and chunks of steaming potato, but on Sunday mornings, the kids and I are loyal to our Church tamales. It's as close to organized religion as we get.