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For Christians of which I am the seventh day is a day of rest, reflection and worship.
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My Grandmother Murray, who attended Trinity United Church regularly over there on Meadowlark Road, scolded me with season scorn when, in 1984, I penned a section front page piece on laughing with disability complete with a one-third page of me sipping a bottle of beer with a straw.
On a Sunday.
Grandma was not pleased and passed some interesting and, honestly, unflattering comments from her friends in the pews.