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about our fabulous week-end. I was able to see the parish church in my sister’s town. A lot of wood, sort of a ski lodge kind of architecture. But not altogether off-putting. They have incorporated elements from their old church, such as the old Stations of the Cross. Not at all like St. Patrick’s in Hudson which appears to have been built from a modified prison plan. Very narrow windows.

I did have a few unpleasant moments when I knelt and found my feet stuck under the seat. I looked across the aisle to notice that the chairs had a derriere-friendly slant to them, leaving less foot room at the back than at the front. This is probably not a problem for any worshippers wearing flexible shoes, but my clunky heavy-duty size 10 practical boots became wedged under the seat every time. I wonder what happens to men with really big feet (and boots.)

At home I am usually a reticent and self-conscious singer. Remembering all the tone deaf and vigorous hymn singers that I mocked in my childhood, I am sure that every church is crawling with little children waiting to laugh themselves into apoplexy at my attempts at hymnody. But feeling overwhelmed with good cheer I found myself singing quite enthusiastically. (Probably for the same reason I was on the dance floor, singing ‘Love Shack’ and ‘Rock Lobster’ the night before - I’d most likely never see most of these people again.) All my vocal efforts went smoothly....until after the exchange of peace. The pianist started to play and I, naturally, started singing the Agnus Dei. But the congregation broke into “Let There Be Peace on Earth.” The whole darned song. (In the interest of full disclosure, I shall admit I don’t particularly care for this song.) I was so confused. Then we sang the Agnus Dei. Then I knelt and re-wedged my feet under the seat.