“Welcome Happy Morning.”

Well, not listening to it as such, but I’ve had Sir Arthur Sullivan’s sprightly tune running through my head all day.  This is probably because the heat finally broke, giving us a lovely, almost Easterish, morning here in Northern Virginny, and also because I was thinking about the gels, whom we will be retrieving from camp on Friday.  The middle gel, now aged 10, has become a mainstay of the yoot choir at Robbo’s Former Episcopal Church, and when she is not on duty, so to speak, we have taken to singing hymns together (including this one) with much mutual delight.

Sigh. I’m afraid that when RFEC finally reaches the point of apostasy where I cannot in good conscience darken its doors even for the sake of the family, and there are signals at both the national and the parish level that this may happen sooner rather than later, I’m going to miss the hymnody more than anything else.

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