I tried the organ pedals in my ordinary walking shoes, having left the proper pair at home, and felt remarkably clumsy for somebody who has sat on that bench most of her life. My feet kept catching where they usually pass without my noticing. Once I took the shoes off I could feel the edges beneath my stockings, though I wouldn't care to play a service that way. My left hand was reasonably willing, so I stayed a little longer than intended, letting my legs do the work while my shoulders loosened. Walking home, I had that pleasantly used feeling I remember from a good afternoon of practice, not the worn-out feeling I had expected.

The pastor's daughter asked why I change the sound halfway through a hymn when the notes stay the same. I gave her the usual explanation about the verses, but I've been thinking that I often do it because of who is singing. When the congregation sounds hesitant, I play differently than when they come in ready to carry the roof away. Mother never wrote any of that on a lesson sheet. I'm trying to remember whether she told me or whether I watched her long enough to notice. There are things I ought to explain to this girl before she has to guess them herself, and a few I suspect she will simply hear differently from me.

My son called to say they couldn't come this weekend, and I told him quite truthfully that I understood. The children have their own commitments, and ninety minutes each way is not a small thing. Then I put away the extra biscuits and felt dreadfully sorry for myself, which was less gracious than the telephone version of me. I miss Walter most at those moments, when there's nobody beside me to be disappointed with. Wesley climbed into the grocery bag and made such a fuss getting out that I laughed despite myself. It didn't cure the evening, but I was glad of the interruption. I have kept the biscuits in the freezer.