Bethany

Our Schaeffer group spent yesterday evening at Joe Martin's house.

Bill and I arrived first, while it was still light, in time to play Bumble Puppy in the garden. Bumble Puppy's a bit like Tether Ball, except the pole's 14 feet high, the ball is a tennis ball wrapped in an old sock, and you hit it with a squash racket, instead of with your fist -- all together an amazing game. As I stood watching while Bill and Joe took a turn, I noticed that the trees surrounding the garden were flaming orange and gold -- I don't remember autumn colours ever coming so late at home. The air was clear and the exercise invigorating; despite the cold, we played until it was almost too dark to see the ball.

Once inside, Bill and I chopped vegetables for dinner while Joe played for us some of his favourite radio comedies. I laughed until I cried, especially during some of Bob Newhart's sketches: "The Driving Instructor" and "The School for Bus Drivers." Bill offered to take over on the onions, but the tears weren't the onions' fault.

After a while John arrived, followed soon by Andrew. Joe had prepared a Thanksgiving feast for us, complete with chicken, gravy, Arkansas eggplant casserole, corn bread dressing, French wine, and "Joe Martin's Chocolaty Goodness" -- the world's best chocolate meringue pie. We laughed much over dinner, sharing stories and re-listening to the best of the radio selections.

After dessert we adjourned to the lounge with tea and coffee to watch another episode of How Shall We Then Live, followed by discussion. Joe drove us back to town and we called our goodnights across wet pavements under the glow of the street lamps.

Sometimes I think of Bethany as a recreation of Sheldon Vanauken's Studio.

Go under the Mercy. Sleep under the Protection.