E A S T E R . . . 2 0 1 6

Last night Marti and our bud Nate wheeled me down rue Georges Bizet to attend the street version of the Easter Resurrection ceremony at my church, Saint Stephen Greek Orthodox Cathedral.

We found a good spot on the sidewalk, then Marti went to buy us candles.

At 11 p.m. the darkened church was slowly illuminated, as worshippers passed a single light that appeared from the altar. Soon after the bishop and entourage brought the light to the street in a procession.

Nate and me. I promised to not dime him out to his rabbi.

This afternoon Marti and Nate brought Easter dinner to my room at the clinic.

Roast lamb, potatoes and horta (greens) (at my request). Deelish. We started with the traditional red egg cracking competition and concluded with cookies, which Marti had acquired in an Easter basket from the ladies at my church.

I had been spoiled by last night's bust-out, however, so we commandeered a wheelchair and went off a few blocks on an expedition. I chose the destination: the swanky Four Seasons George V. If it had been good enough for Audrey Hepburn and The Beatles, it would work for us.

My bride. In La Galerie Lounge. A showcase of "beautiful Flemish tapestries, 19th-century paintings and furniture, as well as many exquisite objets d'art. The atmosphere is of elegance and genuine peace, highlighted by the pianist, who plays every day from 3:00 pm." She played Elvis' "Are You Lonesome Tonight," but I knew somehow we wouldn't be getting "Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap."

Nate. My driver.

In a chair but happy for a break in the routine.

High Tea. Or as the waitperson described it, "Eye Tea." (And there's me thinking it had something to do with computer systems!)

Marti said she was so happy to be out in the world with me again. Me too!