So my lovely lady and I visited our new church again today. We went there once when we were in town in March to find our apartment, and after visiting a bigger, richer church last weekend--which neither of us liked--we went back to this little one downtown. Very nice--nice service, nice people, nice building, nice distance (six minutes if you take 490).

The only drawback is that it's not the youngest church in town. Not that there's anything wrong with older folks--without them, there'd be no church, which would be no good. But sometimes older folks don't hear so well. And, let's face it, my lady's real name--which she sometimes uses for some reason when introducing herself instead of the shorter, less complicated version--can be hard to make out if you're a) white, b) old, or c) both of the above. Some amusing exchanges ensued, sitcomlike:

MY LADY: Hi, I'm [real name, en espanol].

OLD PRESBYTERIAN GENTLEMAN: One more time?

MY LADY: [real name].

OLD PRESBYTERIAN GENTLEMAN: [after a moment's indecision] So pleased to meet you, Stephanie. [This is not her name. Or even close.]

MY LADY: [sheepishly] Nice to meet you, too.

OLD PRESBYTERIAN GENTLEMAN: [to his wife] Honey, I want you to meet Stephanie. She's lovely, and visiting.

OLD PRESBYTERIAN GENTLEMAN'S OLD PRESBYTERIAN WIFE: Melanie, it's wonderful to have you with us today.

What's spectacular is that this happened several times over the course of fellowship hour. And what's even better is that she and I are both too introverted to correct anyone, so she will undoubtedly be known by at least a dozen different names in this tiny congregation. Which is hilarious. I just hope they never compare notes. Or turn up their hearing aids.


Enjoy fellowship hour that much more with me,

TR

Welcome to the Rock.

Er, the Roch. As in Rochester.

But, as it turns out, it ain't so bad! We have assembled half of the contents of IKEA Pittsburgh in our little place here on Shepard Street, and my lady is happy, so I can't complain. My little dog seems ok, too, despite the ridiculously strong chemical bath we had to give him today as part of his ongoing anti-mange regimen. Yes, ladies and gents, for those who haven't already snickered over this, it is confirmed: my dog is mangy. But he's recovering nicely, and in good spirits. (When is he not, though?)

You are all officially invited to come see us here in the Flower City. Along the banks of the stately Genessee River, I will serve you delicious wine produced in the lovely Finger Lakes region, and regale you with tales of the exploits of local historical luminaries Susan B. Anthony, Frederick Douglass and Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. I will help you understand the importance of the Erie Canal in the history of our great nation, and I will take you to Canada to lose money in casinos within spitting distance of the majesty of roaring Niagara Falls. Also, we can tour the once-mighty, now largely vacant complexes of industrial giants Kodak and Xerox--let's try to guess how many local jobs they'll cut this year, and which countries they'll export them to! Come one, come all (just not all at once)--and taste the wonder of western New York--where awe meets depression!

Be glad the road trip's over with me,
TR