Him: you waiting for airport shuttle?
Me: yes
Him: it leaves every 30 minutes
Me: top and bottom of each hour?
Him: no it comes at 4 and then 4:30 and then 5 - like that
Me:
Me:
Me: Thanks
@Wizabeth60@ImSedman@3YearLetterman@Acyn Take a lap Lisa! Bet you financed yore waterbed. And for further education: Notary Publics like Coach are the HIPPA experts.
@Mitch_Tischler This is nuts. No one really knows if Allegretti can even get the job done, he’s never done it except for a couple games. I’m a truly positive fan but this situation looks like a potential season ruiner.
@john_keim This is nuts. No one really knows if Allegretti can even get the job done, he’s never done it except for a couple games. I’m a truly positive fan but this situation looks like a potential season ruiner.
This is not Europe. This is Missouri.
The Cathedral Basilica of Saint Louis, built in 1914. It has over 41 million mosaic pieces. Some of the most wondrous churches ever built are in the United States.
Took my grandma to a fish spa where the little fish eat the dead skin....it took forever, and cost $85, but that was still a lot cheaper than a funeral.
A dog got loose on my street in North Carolina.
A woman burst out of her house, screen door slamming, and yelled: "BISCUIT! BISCUIT, NO!"
A golden retriever was running down the center of the road at a speed I did not know this breed possessed.
Within thirty seconds, four people were outside. One man was barefoot. One was holding a spatula. A woman across the street swung her car door open as a barricade and yelled, "CUT HIM OFF AT THE MAILBOX!"
I put my groceries down. I removed my jacket. Nobody asked me to join. Nobody needed to.
The spatula man held position at a driveway. A teenager on a bicycle became a forward scout, yelling "HE'S BY THE FIRE HYDRANT" at full volume. The barefoot man was closing from the south. I crouched between two hedges to block the retreat.
Six strangers. No plan. A perfect pincer movement that not one of them knew they were executing.
The dog reversed course. He came straight at me. Full speed. Tongue out. Tail going. This animal was not fleeing. He was having the single greatest day of his life.
Both paws hit my chest. I went down. My bag of rice split open across the sidewalk.
The barefoot man grabbed the collar. "Got him."
The owner ran over, crying and laughing at the same time. She looked at me on the ground, covered in rice, and said, "Oh my God I'm so sorry. He does this."
He does this. A repeat offender. And the neighborhood still deploys.
She tried to pay for the rice. I refused. She said, "At least let me bring you banana bread."
It arrived the next morning, still warm. A note on top: "From Biscuit's mom. He says sorry."
He does not say sorry. He will do this again. Everyone on this street knows it. They will come outside again. Barefoot. Holding spatulas. Blocking mailboxes. Nobody will be asked.
Total deployment: four minutes. Total planning: zero. Total hesitation: none.
America does not have a system for a loose dog. It has something better. It has neighbors who are already outside before you finish yelling the name.
@JPFinlayNBCS I love JD5! BUT, if he’s so fragile he can’t play a preseason quarter w/o all this fear, then MAYBE, he’s not a viable long term solution at QB?
Tom from my building asked me to meet him at a diner. He said he had news. I assumed someone had died.
Nobody had died. He slid a photograph across the table. An ultrasound. A small ghost in a gray sea.
"We want to ask you something," he said. "We want you to be the godfather."
I have learned to expect strange things in this country. I was not expecting this.
"I have to tell you," I said, "I am not Catholic. I am not your family. We have known each other fourteen months."
"We know."
"There must be a better candidate."
Tom stirred his coffee for a while. "My brother has three kids and a boat payment and he calls me twice a year. You answer every text. You show up when you say you will. When I moved the washer, you brought your own dolly. I made a list of the men I know, and you were at the top of it, and it was not close."
I still do not know what a boat payment is.
I researched the role the way I research everything. It is an old oath. At the baptism, the godfather speaks for the child, who cannot yet speak. And should the worst arrive — should the parents be taken — the godfather steps forward. In my country we would call this a retainer's vow. I have been training for this role my whole life without knowing its name.
At the church, the priest asked if I reject evil.
"I DO," I said.
My voice carried. A baby in the third row woke up. Tom's wife was laughing and crying at the same time, which I am told is common at these events, and which I have chosen to believe.
Afterward, on the church steps, I asked Tom the real question. Why me. There are men who have known him longer, men who share his faith, men who understand boat payments.
He thought about it. "You take everything seriously," he said. "That's the whole job."
I have spent years in this country being too much. Too formal. Too grave. Too careful with small things. I have watched people smile at it, and I have been grateful for the smile, and I have known what the smile meant.
And then a man handed me his daughter — on paper, in a church, against the worst day of his life — because of it.
Her name is June. She cannot speak. For now, I speak for her.
I keep the ultrasound in my wallet. It is a strange photograph. It looks like weather. It is my favorite thing I own.
Someone once wrote on our small town’s water tower that my sister was a slut
She made my life hell until I finally climbed up there with a can of spray paint and corrected her phone number
In Japan, if you use a word wrong, someone will quietly teach you the correct one.
In Texas, I thanked a mechanic by saying "you are a good man of the trucks."
He did not correct me. He put it on his voicemail.
"You've reached Ray. Good man of the trucks."
His son answers the phone that way now.