I had a dream last night that Jesus came over to use our bathroom. Apparently, his shower was on the fritz and he needed to tidy up. I didn't ask him why he needed tidying -- a Christmas party, perhaps? -- although my next memory is of Jesus saying something about being audited. I suppose having to explain things like all those fishes and loaves might be difficult, and who can even say if he claimed for all the spontaneous healings? While he and I were chatting in the doorway, one of my Ottawa college instructors (Teachers of English As A Second Language) walked by carrying a new edition of Funk & Wagnall's Canadian College Dictionary, my all-time favourite, which only heightened my already deeply-embedded suspicion of her. I felt as if she were taunting me because my middle-aged spelling had grown so so bad. (Only yesterday I misspelled pavilion -- a mistake that would have been unheard of in my grade four class.) Just as I was about to wag my finger down the street after her, Cheryl Wheeler sang out from the kitchen -- we were as blessed as blessed can be, you and Mom and Dad and me -- and as I turned to ask Jesus if he knew why the radio had been turned up so loud and to ask what part, if any, he had had in this, Ms. Wheeler emerged from the kitchen wearing a hand-stitched red apron embossed with a big black lobster, and oven mitts, and offered up a trayful of chocolate chip cookies. "They're a bit burnt," she said, and Jesus interjected, "Do you think I really care about that?" The next thing I knew, Galoshes and Ralph were hopping up and down screaming, "Cookies! Cookies!" and Jesus was looking really, really frustrated. I don't know what happened after that, but it seems to me that it was all for the better that I didn't. I know for sure that I did not have enough clean bath towels to offer up, and I had no intention of going into the kitchen and washing more dishes.
-- and it seemed like something just this side of heaven, comin' from the a.m. radio...
<:^)
