OK, I’m home sick today and I’ve had a nip or two of the NyQuil, so forgive me if this gets stupid.
There are still 18 days left to enter the Cthulhu is my Copilot 1st Annual Anniversary Contest. So far, 33 people have entered. That’s, like, 27 more than my loftiest prediction! I’m rather chuffed, to be honest – sniffling and coughing with a raging phlegm-fire in my chest, but chuffed all the same. So thank you.
I spoke to someone at the nearby Catholic Church regarding the abysmal parking practices exhibited by certain parishioners. The meeting, though not as eventful as I my have led you to believe it would be, was definitely a beneficial experience (particularly for me). Let me tell you about it…
The churchyard was expansive and seriously lacking in directional signage, so I just began pulling on doors in search of the parish office. After several doors refused to open for me, I finally located someone who I thought might be able point me in the right direction. There was a woman loading boxes of canned food, clearly bound for a food bank, into the bed of a hatchback. She smiled as I approached her – a warm, genuine smile – and asked me if there was any way she could help me. I thanked her and asked where I might find someone in authority at the church.
As she pointed to the building containing the parish office, I noticed she had no hands. She’d just been hefting heavy boxes without that most basic luxury. I was overcome with humility – so much so that I thanked her almost as an afterthought.
In the parish office, I was greeted by Father P. He was a kindly man, probably around 60 or so years of age, who seemed very much at home in his position. He wasn’t imperious or assuming; just very… confident. He emanated an air of kindness and geniality, but at the same time possessed an unwavering and comfortable resolve (acquired, I suspect, from decades of experience and concerted practice in his holy calling). Basically, he was what I imagine every priest should be: pleasant, peaceful, welcoming, understanding, humble, concerned and, dare I say it, loving. I had no doubt I was talking to a priest who took his rather singular occupation quite seriously.
I handed Father P printouts of the photos I had taken and explained my concerns, but any remnant of the anger and frustration I had felt last Sunday morning had been duly wiped away by the priest’s grace and sincere cordiality. Indeed, something about Father P was profoundly comforting.
His brow furrowed as he shifted through the pictures. “This is troubling to me, as well, I assure you,” he said. “I do make mention of it from the pulpit on occasion, but I guess that isn’t enough for some.”
His scrutiny of the cars in the photos gave me the impression he was trying to determine precisely who in his congregation had committed the offenses.
We talked about the serious lack of adequate local law enforcement and Father P mentioned that he might have to resort to directly contacting King County’s finest. “It’s against the law and as such it is a sin,” he told me. “I will double my efforts and put a stop to it. Thank you very much for informing me.”
I left the church twelve minutes after I’d arrived and in that short time had been humbled twice. I believe I lost my laundry list of snarky questions somewhere in between those two occurrences.
Alright, well, I think I might heat up some soup before the cold medicine shuts me down for a few hours. To those who have sent me posts or are waiting on replies from me: I will get caught up on all things VOX once fire-imps stop using my chest cavity as a rumpus room and I’m back to breathing through my nose.
Ta for now, peeps.