It is the stealth prayer of this century.  Promoted by St. Dominic in the Sixteenth Century, its history dates back via 1232 to earliest Christianity, when the Desert Fathers kept track of their prayers with knotted ropes.  Devout Anglicans and Lutherans have their own versions, but Catholics recite a sophisticated form that can be used by everyone from children to intellectuals.  The meditative version makes use of a method taught even through Eastern meditation, with a mantra (the Hail Mary) that does better service than the Eastern “Ohmm.”

The apparitions of Christ’s Mother, approved by the Church, all make mention of the rosary, and Catholics tend to use it as a personal form of prayer.  It can be recited on the ten fingers when you want to keep your prayer secret (which is often) and its ambidextrous or double mental preoccupation (keeping the mind occupied with recitation of a prayer and meditation) is to me a way of staving off Alzheimer’s.  That may be a personal thought.

When I complete a rosary I feel I have really communicated with God, with the ethereal, and done what Jesus recommended, prayed.  So far, my friends show they enjoy good fortune, and hey, what else to pray for?

They were only seven and nine years old respectively, but the Christian world came to listen to them, Catholics especially. Their last name was Marto, and they were the two youngest of the trio of children at Fatima, Portugal, who said they had seen a beautiful Lady, who told them (it was 1917, the peak of World War I) that another, second World War would follow if humankind didn’t stop offending God. Offensive was the atheism spewed by Russia, which would spread throughout the world.

For the third appearance, scheduled for Oct. 13, 1917, the Lady promised a miracle, which actually happened, and was witnessed by an estimated 70,000 people, many of them unbelievers. (Portugal was matching Russia in following Marx.) There were other, smaller miracles. Three of them, all to children, were recorded, two of them to crippled girls (those are no easy miracles).

Now let your doubting self listen to me. I am eighty-five years old and have spent almost my entire adult life with children as a teacher. If your seven-year-old daughter stuck to her story after being kept overnight in the local jail and being threatened to be submerged in boiling oil with her two friends who told the same story — I’d believe her. Children that age bear a mark of innocence.

A million Muslims being assimilated into Western Civilization! How tremendously difficult. Yet Angela Merkel was the one who assumed this heroic task by accepting them, New Testamentwise, into Germany. What a cost! As an American accustomed to assimilation, I know from Minnesota and Michigan how difficult it is to assimilate Muslims in this way.

The body of those immigrants elected representatives to the U.S. Congress, where they continually embarrass the Democrats with their anti-Semitic remarks and such Seventh-Century customs as wearing a hijab. The willingness of their children to support such foreign cults as ISIS and al-Shabaab rather than the free country (and I mean free) which accepted them is an illustration of their backwardness in adapting to new circumstances.

Angela Merkel stood out as a woman who would put out her hand for a stranger, nay, love her enemies, and so far, I think it’s working. There are no news from Germany of mass terrorism, and the German police have the customary number of lawbreakers well in hand. Is this a modern miracle?

It was called the Finer Diner, and it offered better than diner fare, with of course, bigger than diner prices. It is run by a master chef who wants to do something different. Not far from where I live, it’s on Hempstead Turnpike near Levittown. “24 North” it’s called (notice all the classy eateries on Long Island are north).

I thought it was the place for a classy woman. I don’t take her out that often, but when I do, it’s got to be worthwhile. She chose Fish ‘n Chips, with a Caesar salad, and that fit my prescribed menu, so I did the same. The place had a patrician venue. They served wine in a tumbler (no stems to break) and with the sun streaming in the south windows, I felt I was doing something for the woman to whom I owe so much. I do honor my commitments.

Life is not supposed to be a joy ride–the road can be displeasing. But if it’s done out of gratitude, not only does it become pleasurable, but we believe the payoff is beyond reckoning. The final bill was something I could easily manage, so I’m taking her there again.

She was ninety-one years old, and had persuaded me to go to Copiague, where I’d find a grocery store that offered her groceries at a discount. But I had a dentist appointment that morning, so I went to King Kullen, a nearby more pricey supermarket where I bought her equivalents of a quality she wasn’t used to. The bill came to $70.00

I knew she’d be upset at the unwanted price, so I purposely lost the receipt and told her it was $50.00 Then my wife, who had come to help me (after all, I’m eighty-five) said that a man had given us a coupon for $5.00 since he wasn’t able to meet the $50.00 minimum. There went $5.00 more, for a total of $45.00. The old lady tried to hide her anger, but she was definitely displeased.

How often have I been annoyed at the price I’ve had to pay for a gift from the ultimate giver. (Don’t ask who is the Ultimate Giver.) What will she say when someone goes with her to Copiague and she finds out she can’t get what I gave her for $45.00?