And then, in the midst of this somewhat irreverent reverie, I wondered what my own religion might be. If I defined it that way, that broadly, as the primary focus of my thoughts and passions, what would it be? Family life, perhaps. Our sacred rituals would include eating meals together, going to Anthony's piano recitals and Natasha's soccer games, walking jasper by Sprain Brook, the annual trips to the Green Mountains in winter and Cape Cod in summer; like the so-called Christians on the radio shows, we were engaged in a continual debate about rules and transgression.
Or maybe I belonged to
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