Kitchen Tables and Altars
How spying on my mother taught me about the Eucharist.
By: Renee S. Caserta
When I was nine years old, I asked my older sisters if we could start a Nancy Drew detective agency. I had it all planned out. The tree house our dad had built in the maple would be our base of operations. From there we'd poke around searching for clues and solving mysteries. My sisters pointed out a fact that I had overlooked: Nothing remotely mysterious ever happened in our neighborhood. Undeterred, I set up my own club and began spying on them.
For weeks I followed them around, jotting down notes which, thanks to my atrocious spelling, were as difficult to decipher as any secret...
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