I got a very nostalgic feeling reading about the Trappists at Assumption Abbey.

Bell tolls changing times at Assumption Abbey, but the fruitcake is everlasting.

The monks talk about their work of making fruitcakes, but the way they brought out the old jokes, and the way they spoke of their brothers who've passed away already, felt exactly like talking to the older guys at my brother's monastery at the Abbey of New Clairvaux. Plus, that habit of not naming the cats that come around: exactly the same.