By Elise Paschen
". . . Prayer book and Mother, shot themselves last Sunday."
The spire of Holy Name Cathedral rose like a prayer
above Chicago Avenue. I thumbed a leather-bound book
in catechism class, recited the Hail Mary. Fire and
devils blazed at night. The nuns told my mother
I had a calling. On Scott Street a man lay shot
dead in our alley. It was the Gold Coast. They prided themselves
on sidewalks safe as shrines. I questioned God, the last
to leave the room. Riots flared in Cabrini-Green that Sunday.
I had a lovely Monday because I spent most of it with
Adam had cross country practice and a team spaghetti dinner before the last dual meet of the season on Tuesday; we had a brief crisis because his team shorts were not in the laundry, but they turned out to have been left to dry in the downstairs bathroom by someone other than me *coughs* so that crisis was averted. He went to bed early to be ready to race tomorrow after school; Paul and I watched this week's Downton Abbey, which made me quite annoyed at certain characters I usually like and quite pleased with certain characters I sometimes don't, because after the very late night agony of last night's Orioles-Yankees game I didn't think I could sit through all of tonight's (the Nationals lost appallingly earlier in the day). Here are some more photos from the Montgomery County Agricultural History Farm Park: