I was at the diner cash register, paying for Loretta’s and my brunch bill on a Sunday morning, and the cashier had just handed me two fives and three singles in change. I took them in my right hand and stepped back a bit, bumping into a guy about my age who had been standing way too close. I turned to my left to apologize, and felt the bills in my right hand rustling. The guy on my right was also way too close.
But I’m not that old. I had a tight grip on the bills in my right hand and my wallet was still firmly in my left. When I told this to Loretta later, she said, “Your novelist’s imagination is getting the better of you.” Could be. I replied I was tempted to give the guy on my right the whole fist full of money with a “Here, you need this more than I do.”
“I ask that…prayers…be offered for everyone…that we may lead a quiet and tranquil life.” That’s what I heard from St. Paul, the Apostle of the Gentiles, as he called himself, two hours earlier at Mass. Good thing I didn’t get too Celtic (Yes, some of the Swiss are Celtic from Caesar’s time).