Last year it was writer's block that delayed the start of this note's predecessor; this year it's a rather uncomfortable feeling about where we human beings seem to be driving ourselves. The church, the political order, the commercial world, the social order - all seem to be moving in directions which make me at least uneasy, at most rather frightened, about where we're going. Then, a few days ago, serving as Deacon of the Mass at a celebration of the festival of the Conception of our Lady, what truly matters was so resoundingly brought home to me. If Almighty God, in His infinite wisdom, could choose young Mary - just betrothed to Joseph - to be the Vessel of His Son's invasion of the world, we possibly don't have enough power totally to screw things up!

With that as prelude (who says I editorialize?), we should be prepared for review of the past year, which of course began with my trip, this time to the furthest distance ever from the world I know. Preparations almost so habitual now as to be boring, but for the glory they bring. After midnight's and Christmass morning's Masses at the Church of the Advent, feasted with Jessica and Claudine at the Ritz buffet (second year: now it's a tradition), quick flight down to JFK, Singapore Air's (with what other carrier would one be able to spend 33 hours in transit?) coach to Frankfort, on to Singapore with an extended roller-coaster ride, as there was an immense unstable airmass inflight, change plane for the last leg up to Bangkok., there to confront the fiercest cold wave of their history (75oF = 23oC); having come from subfreezing Boston, I had no problem with their cold.

Knowing I was headed for a place which had been seeing tourists for only six years, my agent started me in the ShangriLa in Bangkok for a bit of pampering up front. Batteries recharged (literally), had a good Druk Air flight which went up through Dacca, Bangladesh, where we were joined by the Bhutanese Olympic pingpong and archery teams (if the confusion and chaos at Dacca's airport are at all a foretaste of the country, it's well I had decided to skip investigating Bangladesh on this trip), on to Paro, Bhutan's airport. Passing through immigration, had a foresight of what was to come: a German passenger attempted to pay the required $20 visa fee with German marks; the agent pointed out that the stipulation was for dollars. When the German persisted, the agent noted that there would be a plane departing Bhutan the next day: if he didn't t want to comply with the regulations, the traveller was free to leave! This was a message echoed throughout my trek: the Bhutanese are warm and gracious; their ways, however, have been cultivated through many centuries of successful coexistence with nature and harmony with the Deity. Thus, change and ambition are two words almost absent from Bhutanese conversations.

You might recall that Bhutan requires its tourists to travel in groups, and that I can't stand group travel. So, my guide Tashi and driver Sonan were a bit confused when they met me at the airport - Where is your family? I explained to them that they would be my family for the duration of my time in Bhutan. When I asked if Sonan - silent so far - understood English, Tashi replied that the driver normally doesn't speak. Well, we promptly changed that. In fact, we shortly developed a camaraderie, which strengthened throughout the trip. (I just learned that Bhutan will no longer allow groups of less than 4 to travel - just made it!).

Now, about Bhutan: as I had reported in a brief preview to friends after returning from the trip, nothing nowhere in 39 years of international travel has changed my perspective and core being to the extent Bhutan has. One cannot be prepared for the experience: primitive sanitation, very high infant mortality, sparse eating implements, no heat nor hot water nor electricity in many of the tourist lodgings, no TV, four hours/day radio, one newspaper/week, AGI $200/person/year, males seen wearing Western clothing in public fined one week's pay, one airport & one road (East- West, 2-lane, half paved) in the whole nation - in short, the richest, gentlest, best-adjusted, least ambitious, warmest people I've ever had the privilege of meeting.

I went to Bhutan as a tourist with a local guide and driver; left there as a pilgrim with my two kids Tashi and Sonan (and their families) in my heart. The King is right: do all possible to discourage tourism; make it prohibitively expensive, difficult, and inconvenient.

Well, now, what more to say? Let's get a few samples of this tiny (about half the size of Indiana) landlocked kingdom which has a northern border - accented by the Himalayas - with Tibet, and on the south, India. Bhutan is apparently the only place where the ancient Tibetan Bhuddist practices and worship continue, now that the Chinese have done away with them in Tibet itself. The people live very simply as they have for centuries. It seemed more like 5 centuries than 5 days since I had left Boston. After a tour of the National Museum, tea at the Olanthong Hotel (the finest in my trip - fully 1\2 star), walking about downtown Paro (all three blocks). Had a severe stomach assault my first night in Bhutan: nature doing its part to get the last vestiges of Western life out of me.

Things were fine for a visit the next morning to Paro Valley and Taktsang Tiger's Nest. Only when we were well along on the hike did Tashi note that it was a 7,000-foot climb, about the same as going up the stairs of six Empire State Buildings. Had an unbearable thirst, regretted not having exercised the option of doing the ascent on horseback. Finally arrived at the summit, where the spectacular view of the Himalayas was well worth the difficulty. Exquisite! My guide and driver must be the best in Bhutan, work constantly to make me feel at home; they pass little facts about life in Bhutan, e.g. a policeman makes about $35 per month; shoes cost six weeks' work.

The next day, a scenic ride through mountain passes to Thimpu, the capital and largest city of Bhutan. Visited a hospital where all the medicine is herbal- and acupuncture- based. Saw one of the few negative effects of the country's poverty: all of the ancient manuscripts in the national library are subjected to the climate and elements, as there aren't the means for proper climate control. Once at Thimpu, had the only negative event of the trip: Sonan advised me that the agency was replacing him with a new driver the next day, when we switched from the sedan to a 4WD Land Rover, more appropriate to the rough terrain we d be experiencing. Well, I wasn't going to have my New Year's Eve upset, had both Tashi and Sonan tell the agency their client was VERY upset at the impending change (as were they). The show worked: Sonan arrived the next morning to report he had been assigned to the rest of my trip through Bhutan.

First stop on New Year's day was the local produce market: every week the people arrive from several days' trek to display and sell their produce, several hundred vendors in an area the size of a few football stadia. As Sonan had guessed, the photographer in me went wild: he left me at one end of the market, said he'd be at the other end in a few hours. I asked the first family of vendors if they'd mind my taking a picture of their adorable infant. Mind? Hardly - a hasty arranging of hair and coat for the Westerner's photo. From then on, as I moved across the market, the people saw me coming, quickly prepared their children for immortalizing in the tourist's camera. Glad I had several rolls of film at hand.

After the market, off we set for our East-bound trip. First, we reached the summit of 3,300 meters at DochuLa Pass, a spectacular view of the Himalayas. Were I to see nothing else, that view towards Everest and the Anapurna range, here at the top of the world, would by itself have validated my trip. Imagine the disappointment of the tourists who come during Bhutan's summer, when the summits are endlessly clouded and covered with mist!

Now we approach Gangte, where the overnight is scheduled in a farmhouse; I become aware of just how remote we're to be when we turn off the main highway to a local one-lane dirt road for a careening tour around mountain turns, ending up at a sixteenth-century monastery. When Tashi approached the old monk at the gate, was sure I wouldn't get in. Turns out, however, that as soon as the monk was made aware I was a cleric, I was an honored guest, given a super tour of the monastery, shown all its manuscripts and tapestries, even invited to stay for the night. Given what was coming, glad I didn't take up the invitation, as I was due to plunge even further back in time when we arrived at the farmhouse scheduled for the stop. I noted steam rising from a pool of water as we reached the farm, learned that the farmwife was preparing my bath: a hole in the yard is filled with water; rocks heated on an open fire are dumped into the pool until it's heated au point. The bather plunges in; never does he move more quickly than when he leaves the pool and dashes through the freezing air to the warmth of the open fire in the farmhouse's living room.

No potentate at any state banquet ever had a more magnificent meal than that which we shared on the living room floor of that simple farmhouse in Gangte. This might be a clue to the transcendent, pervasive mysticism found throughout Bhutan: there are mercifully few created distractions from the awesome sense of the Creator's presence and protection. Now a tiny incident, but quite revealing to me: the fire in the Franklin-type stove having gone out, I prepared a new fire, first (copying my host's earlier example) whittling shavings off the logs for kindling, then placing the twigs, etc., on top. Success: the fire was soon blazing and I quite toasty. Now, however, the farmwife comes to the door, glances about, darts over to the stove in front of me, picks up a bit of wood shaving (almost invisibly small), and tosses it into the fire. So it is: the people are so focused on what counts, so committed to their idea of perfection, that there's little room for compromise. The incident made quite an impact on me.

Though I had gotten used to rising early in Bhutan, a 5:00 knock at my door in the morning was a bit much. Well, I was to have unique opportunity to witness a special bird: the Black Necked Crane from China. (If we're really lucky now, the stamp on your envelope is of the black-necked crane, one of two crane stamps just issued jointly by the U.S. and Chinese post offices; I'm hoping for its arrival from the Postal Service before these letters are ready.) Turns out that this crane, which lives in China and breeds in Tibet, comes down to the Gangte area of Bhutan, to the Pobvjika Black-Necked Crane sanctuary, for a short period every winter. So off Tashi, Sonan, and I set, across what first looked like turf, turned out to be a very light soil cover over a muddy bog. After you've gone in beyond your ankle a few times, you stop thinking about it. But there they were, the black-necked cranes winging across the valley, so majestic. If I needed any demonstration that this trip was intended for me, the juxtaposition of the viewing of the cranes and the issuing of the stamps is my sign! Over another pass, this one at PeleLa, as we drive from Gangte to Tongsa. En route, a stop for lunch prepared by the farmwife. Again, that simple meal eaten on the summit of a mountain, with all the world beneath, with the briskly clean air, rivals all the banquets of my memory.

At the Tongsa guest lodge, came across the first foreigners of my travel - Germans and Austrians who would be passing but three days in Bhutan. At the local post office, in what was to become a regular occurrence for me, I bought out all their stamps: it's apparently not very common for someone to be posting dozens of airmail letters in the rural post offices. The next morning, after a visit to Bhutan's oldest monastery, we were driving along towards Bumthang and I heard a strange thumping. Guess it's the increased sensitivity I developed as we snaked around roads patently too narrow for our car. Well, Sonan humored me and got out to look: turns out the recap was beginning to separate from one of the front tires; as increased as has been my awareness of the Almighty through this trip, I don't particularly want to come upon Him after plunging down the side of a mountain.

Arrived at Bumthang/Jakar at the Lodge in time for lunch. After a tour of the town the custom would have been for Sonan and Tashi to leave me at the lodge after teatime, fetching me the next morning. This time, rather, I asked what the did in the evenings. They replied that I wouldn't possibly be interested in the local wine shop where they spent their evening. On the contrary, I convinced them to let me go along, found the native good humor and camaraderie a delight; was surprised at the good will with which they all received me.

Now, about the East-West highway: several inquiries led me to conclude it had no name; however, we soon began calling it the Standard (STD for short - Sonan-Tashi-David) Highway, my ribbon of history and culture through Bhutan. Prior to its completion 25 years ago, there had been no means for the natives of the various villages to communicate with each other, unless they were willing to trek on foot for several days. At the launching of the highway, the king decided to require the English language for all grade school students; English has thus become the lingua franca of Bhutan; the native language is being preserved and committed to writing at an institute in Thimpu, where studies begin at age 9 for someone aiming for language teaching as an adult.

At Boomthang, had my first a HOT water shower in a HOT room (wood stove) since Thimpu. How we take these pleasures for granted. After breakfast, a walk up the valley outside of Jakar, passing by and visiting five monasteries: just coming to appreciate the subtle differences between Bhutanese, Nepali, and Tibetan Bhuddism - the architectural styles and religious practices are subtly but significantly different. As an outsider I perceive that the Bhutanese are the most peaceful and resigned of the three; it's notable that Bhutan has been invaded by both Tibetans and Nepalese (by neither successfully), has itself undertaken no aggressive military ventures.

In the afternoon, got a chance to see the work of the United Nations development experts in Bhutan. Bhutan is apparently a member nation of the UN out of self-defense concern: when China overwhelmed Tibet and India absorbed Sikkim, the king of Bhutan saw the potential value of membership in the UN. However, one requirement for membership is that the nation have one million citizens. Overnight, the nation's population (by royal edict) increased from .6 million to one million. In fact, Bhutan is very happy to let the outside world to go hurriedly forward with its progress and competitive hysteria; the Bhutanese will continue quietly listening for the will of the Creator. The two development projects introduced by the UN are attempts to introduce foreign currency producers: one a cider press; the other a cheese manufactory. Maybe it is a benefit to have these innovations; however, they and tourism have to be seen to bring as many problems as benefits to the nation.

Back at supper at the lodge, had long conversations with the two local waiters. One is from east, 23 and single; the other one from the south has two kids at 25 years of age. What kind of future can these sons hope for? Exactly the same as their parents and grandparents enjoyed. If a young man has the desire before he becomes betrothed, he can attend college and grad school anywhere in the world, all paid by the King. It is quite significant to me that, of all the Bhutanese with whom I spoke who had been educated in the West, none would for any amount of money consider relocating permanently from "backwards" Bhutan to the wondrous "advanced" first world. Get it?

Finally and sadly, after a few days in Jakar, the trip back to the West begins with a seven-hour drive from Boomthang. A few minutes of snow high in the mountains; on arrival in Wangdiphodrung, we find orange trees growing and poinsettias bushes flowering. Again in the evening, with Sonan and Tashi to the local bar, this time to be regaled by the locals as they sing their native music. At the Dzong in the center of town, many of the monks were in residence; saw that they are as young as under ten years old. Began a cold, which appears to be the only unwelcome souvenir I have from Tashi. During the 7-hour drive from Jakar, I carefully counted every motor vehicle we passed: 23 of them. With 300% duty on all imports, including motor vehicles, it's unlikely Bhutan will soon have the destructive saturation of cars, traffic, and pollution that are just now beginning to be dealt with in Bangkok and Kathmandu.

The return to Thimpu gave me a chance to begin serious shopping; highest priority was getting a Koh, the native male garment. Though the koh had been the garment of choice since the beginning of time in Bhutan, many had switched to western wear until ten years ago. Then, the people became concerned with the influx of Indians, Nepalis, and other non-native people; the king decreed that all Bhutanese males must wear the koh in public; the fine for not doing so is one week's wages. Most men wear a rainbow-striped koh; as I am a cleric, it was determined that I should get the more appropriate plain black one. As the shipkeeper, Tashi, and Sonan assisted me to don the koh, I thought I understood why polygamy is practiced in Bhutan: it took three of them some time properly to fold and tie it on me. However, once I stepped into the street, you couldn't have seen a fiercer pride (nor a greater happiness on the part of the Bhutanese, content to see an outsider respecting their traditions).

As might be expected in all developing countries, Bhutan has a philatelic bureau; none had captivated me as did the one in Thimpu. Similarly, the handicraft center had me wondering how I was going to get everything into my bags.

In the evening, I was treated with company at dinner, a former member of the agricultural ministry. His perspective was especially interesting to me, as he had studied in the USA. Though he admitted to being enthralled at first with all the wonders of the modern world, all the gadgets and conveniences, he soon tired of the relentless pace and looked forward to returning to the peace of Bhutan.

A note about the government in Bhutan: when the present king succeeded his father a quarter century ago, he reasserted the king's rather complete rule, with the proviso that the people could at any time have a plebescite and chuck out the monarchy. There seems to be little sentiment in that direction. Seriously, if something isn't broken, why fix it? The country appears to work quite well; the king is extremely active on behalf of his people. He lives quite modestly in a small cottage just above the guest house where I stayed in Thimpu; on occasion going over to the palace where his four wives (all sisters) live.

Having toured the zoo, paid respects at the Chorten where the late king is buried, and (a treat, the Bhutan tourist agency thought) luncheon at Thimpu's finest hotel - so dull and without local life or color - short drive back to Paro. How a few weeks can induce immense change: when I arrived at Paro, I had a rather formal tea at the Olanthong Hotel; now, for my last night, before dinner I'm off with Sonan and Tashi to a Tibetan wine shop. Since the rape of Tibet, the King has allowed Tibetan refugees to come to Bhutan, with condition that they become citizens. Well, the Tibetans seem to have become the shopkeepers of Bhutan.

Tipping being strictly forbidden in Bhutan, I had to make sure that the few bills I had for Tashi and Sonan were in fact wrapping for little gifts I had for them. Then Tashi, apologizing that he hadn't better for me, gave me a bedspread it had taken his mother months to weave. When I flew out of Paro, leaving the Himalayas behind, I wasn't leaving a tourist destination; I was moving on from having met a reality few are privileged to know. It wasn't a place, it wasn't events in history, it wasn't scenery: rather, it was a whole life, a rich civilization, an intense reality. May God protect Bhutan from us and keep it for His glory.

At Dacca, the people from Bangladesh again made all sorts of difficulties, delaying the departure for Bangkok an hour, causing me just barely to make my flight at Bangkok for Singapore. Inflight, had a very interesting conversation with a functionary of the department of education of Bhutan who is studying for his Master's in Australia. Like the other Bhutanese who had studied outside, this one couldn't wait for his studies to be over so he could get back home.

Back to civilization and all of its benefits: not reaching Singapore in time for the connecting flight down to Denpassar, had to overnight at a hotel near Chan'gi Airport. Frankly, as I walked around the lobby and poked my head into the karioke bar where the wild banshees were screaming drunkenly, it would have taken very little to convince me to rush for the next plane back to Bhutan. Somewhat complicating my reentry into civilization was an acceleration o the cold I had picked up in Bhutan: my temperature seemed to be rising at the same rate as that of the outside air.

So, as soon as I completed the flight to Indonesia and arrived at the Club Med outside of Denpassar in Bali, before checking into my room I went over to the infirmary. Turns out that it wasn't a simple cold: the thermometer showed 103.8oF - 39.8oC, double pneumonia. Though I know Club Med Denpassar wasn't designed for recuperation; no better venue exists for such. Spent the first several days nursing my illness and digesting the great impact Bhutan had had upon me. Happily, my appetite wasn't suffering during my habilitation. The Club's annex restaurant (the Banyan), presided over by the same person who had worked such wonders at the CM Phuket in Thailand a year before, was a seafood extravaganza every night.

My bungalow-mate at Bali also was suffering from an earlier part of his vacation; he - from Canada - was being assaulted by an intestinal ailment. What a pair we made! Though the Bali CM village was full with 800 GM's, I was apparently the only Yank. Again, it's like a homecoming here: I know about a dozen of the GO's from other Club Med's. At the bar came upon a couple from New Zealand that I had met last year at Club Med Phuket. Delightful and peaceful. Had a chance to digest the Bhutan experience - one of the most overwhelming of my travels - don't know if I'll ever recover from that.

One morning I woke before sunrise, to the sound of drums, followed the drumbeat down to the beach. There, accompanied by the sunrise, it was the Hindu cremation of two, of whom one was the late grandmother of the bartender at Banyan. Took two rolls of film before the first breakfast, something I hadn't done during the past four days. The Banyan is sacred to the Hindus, because its roots mount to the sky, then come back to the earth.

With my strength returned, the fever gone, rented a car with a chauffeur and guide for a day to see all of the interesting parts of Bali, including the rice terraces. Once my fever was gone, everyone seemed so much more
interesting and kind. The guide did a very good job of explaining the Hindu religion and the life in Bali. No stores! No tourists! A storm in the afternoon made it possible to end the tour after 8 hours, me whipped with fatigue.

Pretty well recovered and saturated with touring, determined to abort my original plan to spend a few days in Singapore before returning to Boston. Though I missed having opportunity to return to the Goodwood Park Hotel, I still didn't feel totally up to snuff. Happily, was able to revise my flights so that I could go direct from Denpassar to Singapore to Frankfort to JFK, and on to Boston. Well, it all went well through Frankfort. Once aloft, we heard of the earthquake that had just hit California. We were told the weather was bad when we came into New York; we couldn't have anticipated just how bad. Once there, learned that most ongoing flights were being cancelled, including my noontime one to Boston. Well, I got in the queue with the hundreds of others stranded at JFK: my vigil didn't end till fourteen hours later when, at 2:00 am, the ground personnel took pity on my rising fever, gave me a seat on the last commuter plane being allowed to leave for Boston, which we reached 44 hours after I left Denpassar. It mattered little to me that my bags didn't make it to the flight with me, joined me a few days later.

Checked in with the medical people the next morning, learned that, as suspected, I had a pretty serious pneumonia and fever. No matter: if there had been no more of this trip than Bhutan, it was worth every degree of fever. A few days after, had a chance to close out some unfinished business with an uninvited guest whom we had apprehended attempting to break into the Co-op the previous spring. It took five return trips to the court before the felon finally showed up: the time given him by the Court validated persistence. In fact, since that court appearance, the word appears to have gotten out to other felons: no unwelcome visits at the Co-op since.

Then I was called to jury duty. Although I had always been excused through challenges from either the defense or the prosecution (the standard dislikes for jail employees and/or clergy), this time the judge asked me if I felt I could serve properly, given the difficulties I had had with some parts of the criminal justice system. I noted that it was in fact the justice delivery system which ultimately vindicated me in my troubles. I was allowed to sit on a case. Never before had I realized the significance of the jurors: while they are deliberating and adjudicating and determining guilt, they are the ultimately powerful component of the government: no court or judge or officer or lawyer has greater power than the jurors. Yes, it's perhaps inconvenient on occasion to serve; it is, however, the lifeblood of our system.

Spent some time working with Jessica on her nursing degree thesis revisions (the mechanical part; I have no interest nor capacity for expertise in health care delivery to senior citizens living alone).

Plethora of events - election of a coadjutor for the Diocese, identification and nurturing of new officers for the Co-op, phonothon work for Brown as we're coming to our 35th reunion, enhancement of the electronic crime alert network at MIT, joining a busload full of enthusiastic Advent parishioners on a trip to assist at the institution of Fr. Warren as rector of the Church of the Resurrection (anyone who needs an institution team just contact us - have smoke and bells, will travel ). Put brush to hand for the first time in ages to paint a bureau for Jessica's birthday; conterminously invited by one of the computer labs to give a test run to a new product being developed: starting to publish a computer magazine on CD-ROM. What significance? Six months of the magazine instantly accessible, with sound and motion, a foresight of the wave of the future.

The busyness nicely interrupted in May with a conference I had been setting up for a year: data processing professionals from several colleges get together every year, this being MIT's chance to host it. Was most fortunate that Bob Malmberg put me on to Wequassett Inn on Cape Cod. Four days of heavy work punctuated with a clambake, an excursion for dinner to Provincetown, interminable meals, snacks, treats, all so fantastic that we hardly noticed it rained nonstop for our four days together.

Realized when checking the calendar in June that it had been 30 years since I was ordained to the Diaconate - how time flies when you're having fun! Had opportunity to share the experiences we've had with the 49 Symphony Road Co- op during its 12 years of growth at a seminar with people from many young co-ops just getting started; how we have grown and developed - each year we seem to get more and more active participants, replacing those who see the co-op simply as a cheap place to live. Noted the happy wedding of my niece Jill with Joe last year; this Summer was honored to observe my birthday with the baptism of their daughter Jenna. Time marches on: my Godson Tom is Jenna's Godfather!

Having written to the King of Bhutan after my return to the States, encouraging him in his commitment to keep Bhutan's traditions (not letting western development and tourism overwhelm the country), had contact with the Bhutanese Ambassador to the UN, when I was invited to join him at the opening of a preview of a Bhutanese fabric exhibit at the Peabody Museum in Salem. This was the first time Bhutan has exhibited its culture in the USA; a compromise between those who would publicize Bhutan and those who want to keep it free from tourist pollution. As I had noted to the King, however, there is currently an invasion of Bhutan more insidious than that of the Tibetans in years past: though Bhutan has no TV, the VCR culture is insidiously infiltrating the kingdom. It's a truism, but the life the Bhutanese kids see on the VCR's is not only better than anything they know in Bhutan, it's beyond anything realistically available anywhere!

Now one of the most significant events of the year, and what turns out to be one of the most difficult of my life: went for my annual physical exam in June, found a circulation problem in my arm, was referred to a vascular surgeon who, before even examining me, asked how much I smoked - I saw it coming. He advised that the difficulty in the arm was not serious; however, continuing smoking will lead eventually to other circulation problems (how about in the heart!).

Well, this medical diagnosis, coupled with a desire to get away from slavery to a drug, and strongly reinforced by the insufferable self-righteous judgments of non-smokers - can't wait to start working on their sins once my addiction is gone :)- determined then that it was time to quit smoking, signed up with a smoke-ending course at MGH, got a prescription for the patches, finally quit smoking five months ago. I'm told only a small percentage of nicotine quitters have the excruciating difficulty I experienced. My suspicion (can't be much more; there's a dearth of information about nicotine available) is that in fact this nicotine withdrawal difficulty accounts for a large part of the 80% of quitters who are not successful. I speak not of irritability, nor of nervousness, but of a fundamental mind- and spirit-set that 35 years of ingesting tobacco more frequently than any other activity except breathing etched into my persona. Quitting alcohol was infinitely easier; word is that even heroin is easier to quit. Whatever, the process is not complete but appears to be working. I will say that every part of the process - the patches, the group sessions at MGH, the magnificent support from colleagues and friends - all of them had to work together.

The past comes back: not having seen any of my classmates from seminary since graduation thirty years ago, one (Warren Thompson) was in town for a Mensa convention in July, followed two weeks later by Bob and Lois Caldwell (she Jessica's Godmother), ending a visit to the States from retirement in Ireland. Not having been involved much in the Diocese for the past several years, as the majority's pursuit of God knows which of the latest theological hula hoops distance them ever further from the faith in which I was raised and continue to rejoice, was invited to participate in the consecration of Fr. Shaw, a monk in the Society of St. John the Evangelist, as Bishop Coadjutor of Massachusetts. Well, the consecration, at which I served as chaplain to the Primate of Canada, was a juxtaposition of the most holy with the most profane and PC. God only knows which will win out. Further experience of such a juxtaposition when I was invited to be Deacon of the Mass at a celebration of my home parish's hundredth anniversary in Needham. A pleasure to celebrate with friends and family from Needham. Another novelty: never having shown my slides publicly, I was asked by a group of seniors at the Advent if I'd do a show for them. How to choose which of the tens of thousands of slides I've taken of 150 destinations over the past 35 years of travel? Simple: I made a list of all the destinations, asked the group to vote on what they wanted to see. Happily for me, there was a great interest in the Indian subcontinent, leading to a tour of Nepal, India, and Bhutan.

Although the organizational difficulties to which I alluded continue to plague the Advent, we are in the midst of our 150th anniversary year. One highlight, a full orchestral celebration of Mozart's Requiem. No concert setting can compare with a performance completed in context of an actual service of worship.

That's about it. I'm sure many wonder, as did I, how I could possibly find a travel destination that would be adequate, after my experience with Bhutan. Back in March, I gave my agent a list of possibilities, headed by the Falkland Islands. Right off, Bob told me the Falklands were impossible, as there had been no commercial traffic to them since the Argentinean invasion in 1982.

Well, that's all I needed; Bob checked further, found that the RAF provides a twice-weekly flight from their base in London, primarily for servicing the garrison of RAF personnel stationed there. They do allow a limited number of civilians to join the flight. Much paperwork and planning later (including Bob asking Stanley Services in the Falklands if there was anything for a tourist to do there, being answered minutes later with a detailed fax giving a three-week itinerary for me), following the Christmass masses at the Advent, celebration with Claudine, Jessica, and a friend of Jessica's at the festal Ritz brunch, I'll be off to London. The RAF flight from Brize Norton outside London (the longest scheduled airflight going) will stop first at Ascension Island for an overnight, then on to Mount Pleasant airport in the Falklands. With 2,000 people (half of them in the capital Stanley) and 50x as many sheep, more varieties of penguins and albatrosses than anywhere else, this Crown Colony is going to be unlike any other place I've seen. Bob just called to note he had received a FAX from Stanley: they are going through the inverse of Bangkok's weather problem from a year ago, but with the same result: hottest weather they've ever had, now up to 75oF 24oC. Think I'll still go :)

I wish you the merriest Christmass and happiest New Year our Lord will give you. May we finally give in and accept that He is in charge!