Saturday: Vivienne drove Carmina, Denton, and I to Jersey City for the PATH, which we took to 14th, and then on to midtown. We met Armi’s friend Mayumi at the Kaplan, then went on to meet Ellen at Cafe Lilo’s, after which we ate at a Pizzeria Uno’s. Ellen fair near to bit my head off for suggesting we continue on when seating lagged, but she and Denton seemed to hit it off.

Sunday: Mass at St. Helena’s. I was at St. Cecelia’s in Iselin last week, and in St. Matthias in Bala Cynwyd on Wednesday, so I did not know what was going on. Apparently the schedule has changed. I got in at 12:00 to find an overflowing Mass. The time had changed to 11:30, and the 10:30 churchgoers, having missed the 9:30 Mass completely, attended the 11:30. Very confusing and distressful. Is something wrong with the Monsignor?

I drove Armi to Horse’s Run Farm (?) in Wall to meet with friends she had met in the Philippines when she went to assist Dad in Mindanao for the medical mission for the poor there. We met many very nice horses with wonderful names. It is the middle of the foaling season for thoroughbreds, apparently, and we were introduced to several fillies from three days old to a month old. Underneath our hands their young horseflesh shivered. The gravid horses for the most part were very even-tempered.

We spoke of various things. Armi brought up the war, and though I cringed when she did so, the Laszlos (?) are almost as conflicted by the issues surrounding it as I am, with an open mind to all the possibilities. Afterwards, my head snapped back and forth as I tried to comprehend the various subtleties of getting a residency in the post-match scramble while seated between the two conversants.

We finished the night with a wonderfully understated chicken francese dressed with asparagus; too often I find these things drowning in sauce. The dinner was followed by a coconut pie with fresh fruit, as they reminisced (with pictures) about their experiences in the Philippines. Some of the pictures showing some of the surgical operations were probably not the best sight for someone shoveling coconut cream down his throat. They talked about some of their history in this township, and their daughters. I made yet another (botched) attempt to describe the work I do.
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