"If you hear a different drummer - dreamer, take a chance ... The road you choose to travel means the difference in the dance." - D. Morgan

Everyone is dressed in their good Sunday clothes and carrying baskets filled with ham, cheeses, Polish sausage, horseradish, decorated eggs and other delights and covered with embroidered white fabric. We all queue patiently outside the church hall until the doors open and people file in, arranging their baskets around a large u-shaped trestle. The priest utters a stately blessing in Polish and everyone crosses themselves several times. I'm astonished when he begins to make a lightening fast pass along the trestle, sailing across the floor, white robes billowing as he is trailed by an attendant who scurries after him with the bowl of holy water. When he gets to the end of the U-shape he slows and begins liberally sprinkling everyone present with the holy water as he makes his way back down to the front amid laughter all around.

After the baskets of food are blessed we go to a nearby Polish restaurant for soup. Even the waitress is speaking in Polish so I'm happy to let Mike and his sister order for me. The Fasola (bean soup) is delicious, served with a dark rye bread.

Sunday (usually after church but we skipped that bit) is a family gathering for lunch to eat the blessed food. It's served in the form of a rye broth poured into bowls over diced egg, sausage pieces, ham, cheese and horseradish (I need to find out the name). Everyone warned me that I may not like it so I only had a little to start off with. While the broth is slightly bitter it's a bland taste but gets a rich flavour from the added pieces and horseradish - very nice!