Tranquil Life

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).

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