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and he erased my previous entry.�

Good writing.
Bad cat.

I still want to go on record as saying that the outdoor stations of the cross did too look like barbecue grills, seeing as they were made out of red brick and placed right next to a golf course. Doing the stations outside seems like a halfway reasonable idea--better than that mob moving up and down the narrow outer aisles� of a church.� Having a golf ball or two plink down next to you while you're in prayer seems like a small price to pay. However, playing golf with a full vista of penitents walking through Christ's last few days does not sound like much of a weekend getaway to me.�

The manhole covers at my husband's Catholic alma mater had the word "Luther" on them.� I chuckled in a lapsed Catholic kind of way.� He (my husband, not Luther) did not.

This is the perfect moment:� I'm at the dining room table, the cat sits on the round carpet at my feet, and across the threshold, Paul is at his computer, typing.� We banter, talk about our days.� This is good.

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