april 15, 2001. Last night we were invited to a vegetarian potluck by Will the Sailor Friend, one of the cool alternative people of Wolfville (I'm just as surprised at their existence as you are). It was a very laid back affair, full of people who knew each other very well but were quite open to us as strangers. In a way it almost made me lonely because it would be so nice to be known to these people the way they were known to each other. It's at moments like this that I run up against the hard wall of chronology: it takes time to make you loved by a group (unless we're talking about crazy cults devoted to the Leader). But I don't mean to complain. It was very nice, very open, very relaxed. People paid me a great deal of flattering attention without being creepy and our teriyaki portabello mushrooms were enjoyed by all. In a way it reminded me of Brigit's house in second year, or rather it reminded me of the one potluck we held with Brigit, the Lawyer & Poet. There must have been other people but I just can't remember. I was deep in the throws of love/madness at the time and it ate holes in my long-term memory. We left early because we had a very early engagement this morning and we're getting far too old to just stay up all night when it suits us. At 5:30 a.m. I very grumpily arose and started layering on clothing: we were headed for an outdoor worship service, and while it may be spring in your part of the world, we've had snow fall every day for the last 4 days. By 6:15 we were huddled around a small but respectable bonfire in the middle of a vast expanse of still dark lawn. It was a very simple service: two Bible passages about the Resurrection (including the passage below) and three familiar old hymns that you can sing in the semi-dark without needing printed music. Preacher Robyn led us in a prayer and we ate the fish fillets that had cooked in the fire with chunks of pita. It was very relaxed, very immediate, very real. Simon Peter saith unto [the disciples], I go a fishing. They say unto him, We also go with thee. They went forth, and entered into a ship immediately; and that night they caught nothing. But when the morning was now come, Jesus stood on the shore: but the disciples knew not that it was Jesus. Then Jesus saith unto them, Children, have ye any meat? They answered him, No. And he said unto them, Cast the net on the right side of the ship, and ye shall find. They cast therefore, and now they were not able to draw it for the multitude of fishes... As soon as they were come to land, they saw a fire of coals there, and fish laid thereon, and bread. Jesus said unto them, Bring of the fish which ye have now caught. Simon Peter went up, and drew the net to land full of great fishes, an hundred and fifty and three: and for all there were so many, yet was not the net broken. Jesus said unto them, Come and dine....Jesus then cometh, and taketh bread, and giveth them, and fish likewise. I had expected that families with children would take the easy/sensible way out and stay home from the early morning worship, so I was surprised to see at least two full families shivering away with the stoic adults. The choir master's daughter - who hasn't really spoken to me since we played "jungle cats" on the night of the play - walked over to us and cuddled up to my leg for the duration of the service. It was very sweet: I stood with my arm loosely around her shoulders, making sure that her hood stayed up in the cold and seeing that she got some food when the baked fish & pita was passed around. She wasn't much of a talker; too tired. Instead she stood with the hymnbook up to shield her face from the flying sparks that whirled up into the thinly falling snow. Eventually she regained enough energy to tell me about her new Easter dress. I'm glad I'm not too old to understand the excitement of getting ready to wear a pair of shiny shoes. The breakfast at the church was quite a change from the usual holy fare; instead of the usual pancakes or eggs a la UCW, a couple made 100 servings of Eggs Benedict. I wasn't that into it (too tired and generally unimpressed with ham, I suppose), but it made the Boy happy. We trundled off home as soon as possible, for I was in terrible need of a nap before the 11 a.m. service. Once I had slept off the crankiness, & showered off the delicious campfire smell, I was ready to rock once more. And so was my small female friend; when I saw her again she had bounced back to a normal level of little-girl-energy. As I rushed back to the choir stalls to replace my hymnbook after the service I immediately noticed that she was making free with the leftover communion material. Her approach was methodical and businesslike: bite of bread snatched up, dipped in grape juice; bread placed in mouth, then the chaser of juice. Repeat until someone shoos you away. I thought of Preacher and my own communion faux pas, and I had to smile.