Weekend Activities

What a nice weekend.

On Saturday morning, the weather was so gorgeous and cool – enough to prompt me to drag my bicycle out of storage, air up the tires and take a leisurely bike ride along the public bike path next to Chicago’s beautiful Lakeshore Drive.

Oh my GOD, I’ll never do that again!

That public path was festooned with aggressive roller-bladers, runners, walkers, even more aggressive baby strollers, and dogs the size of Volkswagons -- all of which seemed to be going in the opposite direction or wanting to get around me. If my bike could have fit in a taxi, I would have taken one home. I’m surprised I didn’t throw it in the lake.

When did bike riding become such an ordeal? I remember as a kid, we’d just take off on our bikes and return hours later, hop off and let 'em tump over in the front yard. Now, I need to make sure I lock it up with a giant U-bolt thingie along with a cable and padlock.

After the bike riding fiasco, I went to the farmer’s market (taking the No. 22 bus, thank you very much) and bought twelve ears of the sweetest corn you’ve ever tasted. There were also some white tomatoes. Yes, white tomatoes. When I see something unusual like that, of course I have to buy it and bring it home.

They were really good, but then again, any home-grown tomato would be. That, with some of the fresh corn and I was a happy puppy.

On Sunday, I got up early to get ready for choir rehearsal at the church where I’ve been singing. (I walked the seven blocks – the Bicycle of Death was left on by balcony.) There’s a Starbucks next to the church where I had a leisurely café Amercano and a scone. A café Americano and a scone at Starbucks will always be part of my worship service.

While in the choir loft, I noticed that there was a harpsichord next to the organ. A harpsichord! I even became a little verklempt when I saw the harpsichord. It was then that I knew I had found a church home.

People are always making comparisons between the Roman Catholic church and the Episcopal church. Yes, the services are pretty similar. But, obviously, the main difference is that you’ll see a guitar in a Catholic church’s choir loft -- an abomination if there ever was one. In the Episcopal church, it’ll be a harpsichord – like God and Bach intended.

I’m firmly convinced that guitars in church make the baby Jesus cry.