The scaffolding rises behind the alter to the Asp of Holy Ascension Orthodox Church half a block from my home in I'On. Three iconographers from Russia are painting the Virgin of the Sign on the half dome of the ceiling above the Alter, which includes a figure of Mary and two angels. They paint in broad, dark strokes for now, using a five inch paint brush.

Father John Parker reports that, "iconography generally works in colors from dark to light, which has its basis firmly in Orthodox theology: our life's movement is from dark to light, from death to life."

Over the next few weeks, details in bright, colorful paint will cover the broad dark sketches. These will not be the muted shades of historic frescoes we've seen in Europe, faded by centuries and obscured by yellowed glazes. It will blaze out brightly with the colors of gems and bright days.

The art has survived through a remarkable historic process of ancient Christian faith and Soviet Atheism's state subsidized art preservation programs. Most churches in the communist Soviet Union were museums. Paid government employees became the world's experts on painting and preserving Orthodox Christian art. How many were actually Christians in their hearts, we may never know.

We supply empty yogurt containers to mix paint in, contribute bottled water and stand on the floor looking up. We expected planning and technology. We behold creativity and skill. You're invited to come to the church and watch the work.

On Mother's Day, we ran into Christophe's Chocolates for a gift. The tiny shop on Shelmore Blvd., a few blocks from the church, sells handmade chocolate. He makes lavender-scented chocolate, hearts of deep crimson and mint chocolates covered a vivid green. It all still tastes like chocolate, but sometimes in a new and complex way. It is all made in the shop. Stacks of molds fill the shelves. There are sea shells, shoes and treasure chests made from chocolate.

The boxes of colorful chocolates have become our favorite gifts. They're always welcomed. We often get the boxes returned to us after they are emptied, the recipient's enthusiasm for recycling suggesting an interest in having them filled again.

Across the highway that afternoon, we arrived at a family graduation party at the KanPai Japanese Restaurant. The room was as international as any I've ever been in East of the Cooper. There were Japanese people, Filipinos, African Americans, and Latin Americans. There was Mexican Beer, California Wine and Japanese Sake. We lined up to celebrate a graduation with a dinner which included the largest amount of Sushi I've ever seen in one place. We tried new sauces made from peanuts and drank the sake until it warmed our smiles.

I couldn't find chop sticks anywhere though they are always on the table when we go to eat there. After we sat down for dinner, I was shocked to learn Japanese people no longer use chop sticks on a regular basis. They're considered old fashioned. Now I don't know what to do with my sushi. Apparently chop sticks are an archaic affectation as out of place in Tokyo today as a quill pen would be at my law office. Maybe I should have walked in to the party wearing my kilt and sporran, sit down and eaten that roll of blood diamond sushi morsels with the tip of a dirk, the traditional Scottish dagger.

I need to get these people together, the three Russian iconographers, the French chocolatier and the Japanese sushi artist. It is a big world, but they're only about a mile and a half apart in Mount Pleasant right now.

Each of these people arrived in America as part of a complex story which is richer because we didn't melt them down into something we could buy at Wal-Mart and feed cheeseburgers to. Some are here to stay. Others will be moving on. Perhaps we'll give them a Sweetgrass basket when they go, take them down for some shrimp and grits and provide some fried green tomatoes on the side.

After a week of listening to the media obsess about Osama Bin Laden, I'm ready to move on. I'm sure the world is still dangerous. It's also still full of remarkable people. Exterminating the villains won't fully annihilate our discontents. We need something more than a world free of terrorism to justify getting out of bed at the start of the day.

When I was my son's age in Mount Pleasant in the 1970s, Taco Chio and the Blue Hawaii on Coleman Blvd. were considered exotic.

We need some beauty, some delicate nourishment and sweetness crafted by hand. We need some faith, some strength and the hope of a savored reward. We need to figure out what we can put on the wall, what we'll bring to the dinner and what we have to put out for desert.

William Hamilton (www.wjhamilton.com) is an attorney who lives in I'On Village.