Writing

My ukulele class takes place in a church hall and there is an old graveyard next to the church itself.  This gravestone explains that the man who died had been a church elder for upwards of 50 years, much to his own honour and to the satisfaction of his Parishioners.  I like the glimpses you get about someone's life from these stones.
The class itself was much more cheery and we rattled through a fair number of songs; the fingertips of my left hand are glowing.