We’ll be out of touch today, attending the funeral of Alan’s Aunt Dorothy. (Everyone had an Aunt Dorothy once upon a time, didn’t they? And now hardly anyone does. In 70 years, will we all be burying our Aunt Britnee?) She died two days before her 91st birthday. I met her on the same day I met Alan’s parents. They had recently been to Fostoria to check out the biggest news in years — Jesus on a soybean-oil tank.
“They say the image was made by vapors, but maybe a divine hand guided the vapors,” she said.
“Oh, bullshit,” said Alan’s dad.
This anecdote pretty much encapsulates both departed souls.
Anyway, now she can ask the man himself.
I’ll be back tomorrow. Discuss whatever you like, but I won’t be participating.