Last Sunday was terribly cold, so much so that not many people came to church. Our church is small, anyway, with only about 75 members. As an average, most churches only have a quarter of their members in attendance on a usual Sunday. We generally have half our people there. But with the cold, we had 18, among them three little kids -- we usually have 8, nine if you count the new baby -- but he wasn't there.

Anyway, with so many people wearing coats that they wanted to hang up in the vestibule, there wasn't any place for the kids to put their coats, and they couldn't reach the hooks the adults use. So today my husband decided that the little board with hooks on it that is beside one of our back doors was expendable. It gave him a chance to drive his "new" truck up to the church. After all, work and his rechargeable drill were involved. He offered to let me go with him. After all, he'd forgotten to get his level--which he probably can't find now that he's cleaned the garden shed. I have a keen eye for level and plumb.

He persisted in telling me everything about driving the '88 Ford Ranger, standard shift, carburetor-equipped rust bucket, as though I were going to drive it someday. As if!