On the third Sunday of Easter I was in La Jolla, California, for the baptism of a granddaughter. If there is anything better than witnessing and participating in the baptism of a grandchild, I don’t know what it is.
I’m told there are never unpleasant days in this part of the world. April in Chicago testifies that T. S. Eliot was right when he called April “the cruelest month.” Perhaps Eliot had watched a baseball game at Wrigley Field with the temperature at 37 degrees and a 30-knot wind blowing off the lake. There are no days like that in La Jolla.