Digging
BY SEAMUS HEANEY
Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests; snug as a gun.
Under my window, a clean rasping sound
When the spade sinks into gravelly ground:
My father, digging. I look down
Till his straining rump among the flowerbeds
Bends low, comes up twenty years away
Stooping in rhythm through potato drills
Where he was digging.
The coarse boot nestled on the lug, the shaft
Against the inside knee was levered firmly.
He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep
To scatter new potatoes that we picked,
Loving their cool hardness in our hands.
By God, the old man could handle a spade.
Just like his old man.
My grandfather cut more turf in a day
Than any other man on Toner’s bog.
Once I carried him milk in a bottle
Corked sloppily with paper. He straightened up
To drink it, then fell to right away
Nicking and slicing neatly, heaving sods
Over his shoulder, going down and down
For the good turf. Digging.
The cold smell of potato […]
“Every stitch an act of Love for God”
The First Words of Pope Francis[SS1] 
There are many churches one could go to for the Sunday Eucharist in English while in Rome. What may be less known is the one held at the Church of Santa Maria della Scala. The mass begins at 10.30am. It is quiet and homely! The church is at the Piazza della Scala, and only 20 minutes walk from St. Peters – in the direction of Ponte Garibaldi. The church has always been, as it is now, under the care of the Discalced Carmelites. It is very convenient to participate in the Sunday Eucharist, and then walk up to St Peters to pray the Angelus with the Holy Father.