Yesterday, Christmas Eve, la Caterina and I had a jam-packed day. We woke in the morning, and dressed swiftly, ran to local fave Ms. Dahlia's Cafe, and grabbed eggs, turkey bacon and cheese on fresh-baked biscuits. Then in the car to Kings Supreme Court, Clerk's office.
Yeah, you heard that part right.
We go to Supreme Court on Christmas Eve. Well, she had papers to file in foreclosure cases, papers that would stave off homelessness for several families, and that could even lead to settlements that allow them to stay in their homes permanently. As she filed the papers, she smiled at me, and said "Every time a foreclosure answer is filed, an angel gets her wings."
Then out to Long Island for a family Christmas Eve luncheon, a long-standing family tradition. Now, I was serving in the 7:00 and 11:00pm services at St. Barts, so we had to leave at 4:30 in case of traffic. By the time we made our farewells, it was 4:45. As we approached the car, a young, cheerful,but also slightly disheveled, young man carrying a big knapsack approached me and asked for directions to Tulip Avenue--he had travelled, he explained, from New Mexico, and was hoping to see friends of his who owned a pizzeria in Floral Park.
Now, here's where it gets interesting. I, the deacon-in-formation, just provide what was asked--directions to Tulip Avenue. I honestly didn't take in that he was as tired as he was, and assumed he had just wandered from the nearby train station, only a few blocks away.
Ah, but la Caterina! She took in the situation at a glance, and perceived what I merely saw. She suggested, "Why don't we drive you there?" Well, why not indeed? We all piled into the car, and took the young man to Tulip Avenue, and the pizzeria. As he got out, he said, "Until we meet again, may you walk in harmony and balance. I love you." And he exited our lives, at least for this stage of the dance.
We hauled off to Manhattan and St. Barts. We got there in plenty of time, and had a wonderful two services (the second lovingly drenched in incense, courtesy of our dynamic head verger, who loves the stuff almost as much as I do).
The trick, it seems, is to marry someone far better than yourself. Then, as Mark Twain might say, she can drag you up to her level….
Merry Christmas, all!