THE EYE OF THE STORM Sunday morning at our house is a little like Dante’s Inferno. A great lament goes up among the children when they discover someone else has gone before them into the water chamber. In a few moments I will hear the hum of hair dryers and the shouts of, “Has anybody seen my brush?” I will hear a squeal of discovery, and then the one using the hair dryer will say, “I couldn’t find mine. Why can’t I use it? Come on, give it back!”