First day of Convention. Took notes for myself and for you. Wore bright red (blouse of stiff silk with fabulous collar and cuffs, a hand-me-down from Mother of Acts of Hope), silver earrings, black slacks. Received communion from the Bishop of Botswana. Spoke at hearing re: resolution on comprehensive immigration reform. (Resolution comes up tomorrow in legislative session.) Hobnobbed here and there in my capacity as chair of the Anti-Racism Committee and just 'cause hobnobbing is what some of us do at Convention. Listened to two long speeches (both good). Had the vegetarian option for lunch (also good). Skipped dessert but ducked out for a mocha. Hugged a good number of people and shook hands with several others. Sang in English and Spanish. Said the Lord's Prayer in French. Learned two words in the language of Botswana. Cried during the bishop's award to the dear, good people of a small congregation, about whom more tomorrow. Sported button with Episcopal Church shield and the single word "WELCOME" (our Convention theme -- radical welcome). Caught up with several friends. Have (in my scribbled notes) many quotable quotes from various bishops (we have three plus the visiting one) and sundry lay and clergy participants. Said hi and thanks for your ministry to the PFLAG people and picked up their new flyers, some of which are in Spanish. Checked out the local icon-writer. Glowed with pride when my godson's partner read the Epistle beautifully at Eucharist. Looked in vain for the Church Pension Fund people who this year did not show up to sit at an exhibit table and dole out free pocket calendars. Promised prayers to a clergy associated with an Episcopal religious order who is encouraging them to open a house in the diocese (which currently has no religious orders resident -- we used to but they moved out). Had let's-have-lunch conversations with at least five people. Had four conversations about various people's ordination processes. (All involved rolling of eyes and gnashing of teeth.) Clapped and swayed to the singing and drumming of the St. Ambrose Igbo Gospel Choir. Did some coalition-building with members of the Hispanic Ministries Committee. Began hatching small feminist plot. (Don't hold your breath, could take years.) Asked the organist the name of the fabulous postlude he played and complimented him on it. Decided to forego the dinner out with buddies from my congregation (even though said congregation was footing the bill) because last night I didn't get home from work till midnight, so doing the self-care quiet evening at home and early to bed seemed to be the thing to do.