Gingerly, with Brian holding the bottom rung for me, I ascend and peer dizzily down the 143-foot-high light hole, down to the spot where Father joked about dropping Richard. The green stone number is now about the size of a pencil eraser. The pews line up like Lincoln Logs; golden chinks gleam in the mosaic tiles. Air rushes toward my face, cool and still. I can read the inscriptions all around the ceiling: names of apostles, words of the Gospel on books held by doctors of the church.
Thanks for finding that article! I was actually part of that group.
ReplyDeleteThat must have been exciting!
ReplyDeleteI'm sure it was interesting -- but doesn't anyone else have an issue with taking beer into the Cathedral Basilica?
ReplyDelete