...from the wife. A couple weeks ago she calls me from somewhere in the city of man.
"I'm at the bookstore. You need anything?"
Umm, lemme think. Okay, get me something by Walker Percy if they have it. Anything but The Moviegoer.
Calls back a few minutes later. "They don't have anything. I'd have to order it."
Nothing by Walker Percy? What kind of bookstore is it?
Nevermind, I say. I don't have time to read anyway.
She goes out of town to spend Easter with one of the girls. Today I get a call to look in a certain place for my Easter present. So I look. I find it. On the day of the Lord's resurrection I now hold in my hands Lost in the Cosmos.
You want something for Easter? Then listen to the Hallelujah Chorus. Or the Exsultate Jubilate.
Or, if you feel like working, you can read a circumstantially convincing case for the reality of the Resurrection made by Lydia and her husband.
Me, I'm just going to rest in a line of Chrysostom's found by Dylan: Let no one mourn that he has fallen again and again, for forgiveness has risen from the grave.
Update: From my mother, via a retired Episcopal priest, a hymn I don't think I've heard before - "At the Cross Her Stations Keeping", taking account of Mary's sorrow at the Crucifixion. Music composed by John B. Dykes, an Anglican priest, lyrics translated from the Latin by Edward Caswall, initially an Anglican as well, who by 1847 had become Catholic and took up residence at the Oratory of St. Philip Neri, which means, I presume, that he lived and worked alongside John Henry Newman. Their graves lie near each other.
Personally, I like the painting that accompanies the lyrics.