A comforting aroma…fresh-baked cookies!…filled our kitchen yesterday afternoon. Mommy, Grandma and Big Brother stood just a few feet away, stirring the next batch. Gramps was holding him snug, in a firm and loving embrace.
Still, somehow, little Jonah concluded that everything was not right with his world. Quicker than you can say “ginger snap,” he started going all-Ray-LaMontagne on me.
It occurs to me that faucet repairs, like salvation history, tend to require a lot of manpower.
At least, that’s the legacy I seem to have received from my father.
I know for a fact that at one time in their lives, these ladies would have started the party at 10:30 PM…not be wrapping it up at that hour.
Not that I’m complaining.
Something tells me Flannery O’Connor would have registered a complaint, had she been with us at Mass today (just as she might have a couple of years ago, when I originally floated this post).
I was trying to be helpful – really, I was, in my “Gramps” sort of way. Instead, I wound up setting off a mini-crisis.
Or perhaps I should say “sitting off.”
Well, at least one-in-five of us left happy. That would be my cousin’s son, Lucas, who watched his SIU Salukis put a whuppin’ on our SLU Billikens in Carbondale the other night.
A beautiful sight—to gaze upon Midtown St. Louis, all aglow with expectation in the early hours of a December evening.
Didn’t realize it at the time, but I actually got to celebrate the feast of Christ the King a little early this year.
There’s nothing quite like doing a short stretch in prison…to sharpen one’s desire to give thanks.
With Us Still 