Lest I Forget

 I stepped out into the coolness of the November morning to start the car and defog the windows, preparing to take Jack to school. Daylight had yet to appear. As we drove the many miles, the sky lightened, and we could see the mist hanging out just above the grass. We usually listen to a story together on our drive, adding commentary, exchanging a knowing glance or a shocked expression as the twists and turns unfold. I relish this time with Jack. I know that all too soon he will be preparing to leave the nest, like his sisters before him.  On the drive back, I pull my rosary from my purse and pray. By this time, the sun is just about to appear, making the sky a beautiful orange-pink on the horizon. I am pondering much as I pray, for the path I am on is once again rocky and uncertain. Such is life, whether we have faith or not. Faith makes it bearable. For the most part, the road home is a straight shot and I can see the ribbon of road laid out before me, narrowing in the distance. The

 I am knitting a toy tiger. I am also knitting a sweater vest that is very tedious work. Thus the tiger gives me a break from the hard work of the sweater. Except when I get complacent and think I know the pattern and don’t pay close enough attention. But then, in knitting, you have such a thing as a lifeline. For those non-knitting readers, it is a row of knitting with a piece of scrap yarn in it so that if you need to unravel your work, you have a safety row in place to save your project. I had not placed such a lifeline, thinking it would not be needed. Fortunately for me, I could easily sew one in and then unravel my mistake. Also, I am using a set of broken needles because they still are usable, though not perfect. Why am I telling you this, you ask?  Well, it got me to thinking, it did. What if life had a point at which we could safely return to and undo mistakes? A point where things were going well and even if we are using broken needles (because aren’t we all broken in some wa

 First of all, I doubt anyone still checks this little old neglected blog, so I am probably talking to myself right now. But if by chance, there is still someone out there, I will tell the tale of the tail I came to tell. As little boys are apt to do, Peter left his rainboots outside on the front porch several days ago. As they do not add to the decor on the porch, I decided to bring them inside this morning and I put them by the back door, where they belong. There they sat, until the mail truck came by and tucked our mail into the box. I may or may not have mentioned that our property is surrounded by a moat during the rainy days. There is no going to collect the mail without rain boots. Seeing how Peter was supposed to be doing his math lesson, of course he eagerly volunteered to go get the mail. He hopped up from the table and went to put on his boots. The scream that came from him made me leave my seat! I thought he had hurt himself. He claimed there was a roach in his boot. I pick