Voulez-vous rendre gloire a Dieu avec moi?

A nice, quiet weekend and a reasonably peaceable Monday. Jacob and I organized (I use the word loosely, bear in mind who we're talking about) a cross-country meeting. We have races on Thursday and Saturday, and I may or may not survive them.

Sunday I did an interesting thing, more or less by accident: I went to French Mass. Give this to the Quebecois: they are speedy we were in and out in forty-five minutes, the homily having been about two minutes long. And everyone lined up for Communion in the most hysterically French way. Instead of doing the usual thing, where every row stands up when there is space in the aisle for it, and proceeding in an orderly manner up to the altar server, and then back down the other aisle. Instead, the congregation elected to all stand up and move into the aisles at once, get Communion, and wheel around to come back the exact same way they had come, squeezing between the pews and the line of people waiting for their Communion. Ridonkulous! I have told Mum, Dad, and Boopsie this whole story and now I am telling it here, because it seemed so hyperbolically French. "Surely nobody really does things like this!" I said to myself in amused consternation.

Trala. I love my international law class but am not amused with the textbook, which is terrifically dense. The professor seems to be a hippie type, who refers to the US President as "George" and accuses him and his friends of throwing the entire discipline of international law into crisis. I think we will get along well. He also did not think me a silly twit for making an enquiry about proper Latin spelling. Just so you know, ius and jus mean the same thing. And, shout out to Becca, "if you don't care about Latin orthography, then I don't care about you." Hee!