A Rock in My Life

I have on my desk a small statuette given to me by my son on his return from Argentina.  It is of a man with a dog, and on one leg he displays an open wound.  He is St. Roque, (Rock, Rocco) and he reminds me every morning that very few of us get through life without a physical or mental malady.  (I’ve had a quadruple bypass operation for mine.)

There is a Catholic church named after him in Glen Cove, and it has an annual festival famous for the cooking of its parishioners, besides the usual carnival.  You can have a Sunday dinner, home cooked, if the weather is good.

I pray to him to keep myself spiritually alert.  I am far from superstitious.  It’s good to have a company of saints looking after you.

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