My father was a minister; my mother was the music director. There were moments when they did not agree! One Sunday I was sitting in church and from the choir pit at collection came the sound of Danny Boy with tremolo…big time tremolo. Now that was not in fashion! I cringed. The woman beside me was more expressive. She swore. I won’t use the language. I looked at her in surprise and she said: “Every time she does that, I cry.” The funny part was that I don’t think she knew that the woman doing that was my mother. And she would have no idea that she was doing that to bug my father! Tales from the pulpit twenty years later. That’s what we should do…start collecting story fragments.