Garage sales are so common and so frequent in the summer months we hardly even think much of them. For those of us who do not frequent such mercantile ventures, they mean little. However, for others, they are a way of life. Some folks spend an entire Saturday driving from one home to another searching for that one piece of treasure that will make all the difference in their lives. They are rarely very costly, but they mean something to this person, something to take home and be stored in the garage or the basement until it’s time to take the piece and sell it at another next garage sale!

So, I assume that many of our convictions about the natural world depend on our perspective, whether they benefit us or not. It would be wise, therefore, if we could develop a sense that not everything in the world is bad and not everything is good. There seems to be a mixture of goodness and badness in almost everything. The problem is that we cannot always tell the difference.

Of course, it’s not the food itself that is more costly; it’s the price of fuel for transportation that’s driving prices up. I feel sad for the folks who need to make their living in commercial transportation. Some need to fill up the gas tank of their trucks out of their own pocket.

I must confess that some of the most wonderful, the most hilarious experiences have been in my association with little kids in church. In some of the churches I served in the Archdiocese of Anchorage, I would take the opportunity before the readings and call up all the kids who wanted to come. And then I would pick a short piece from the gospel and quiz them. Now, let me tell you that can be a risky thing to do. You never know what is going to come out of the minds and mouths of six or seven year olds. Sometimes even I was embarrassed and happy to know that the kids could not get near the microphone. Their parents would have been scandalized. Knowing they were kids, of course, we can let it go. Adults say worse things.

Some news commentators predicted beforehand that he would be critical and harsh with us. As we watched and listened to him, however, we were relieved to note that the pope displayed a kindly and attentive manner among all his audiences. particularly when he visited the six men and women who had been sexually abused by priests. In short, Pope Benedict conducted himself as a true pastor, encouraging us and giving us direction. He left us heartened and hopeful. In short the Church in America got a shot in the arm from Pope Benedict XVI

Anyway, the point of the program is to let you know that there are some people in the world who are willing to do “”lousy” jobs but love it.

There is another job or a career that not everyone wishes to do, but I would not call it “lousy.” It’s the vocation of nurses. We have all spent enough time in hospitals to know all the things that they do. Some of it is glamorous (ER, for instance) Other tasks, of course include emptying bedpans, bathing patients, doing long night shifts, et cetera.

Over the years, however, Spenard fell on hard times: Housing gradually became rundown, seedy businesses of “personal pleasure” began to sprout up, some of which are still being shuttered periodically even today.

Many parts of Spenard, however, are very livable. Indeed, the apartment complex where employees of the Archdiocese lived was often considered the “Showplace of the West Side. We took pride in our surroundings.

My own visits to Barnes and Noble have ordinarily been efforts to find out what is new and exciting (?) in the world of theology, and, believe me, there are always new thoughts and ideas coming to light from people who make this their career.. Theologians never tire of looking for answers to the Sacred. The choices are vast, so where to start?

All authors, I should imagine, write words with the intent to say something enlightening for the world, something intelligent, earth-shaking, indeed, even something that will change the world or the reader’s sense of life. Rarely does one write simply for one’s self. (I will say something in that regard later, however.)

It all begins early in life, of course with a table called, a “highchair.” We had one in our home, as I remember it, made out of wood. All of us children used it before we were old enough to sit at the main dining table. It has long since disappeared,
ending up in an antique store I suspect. Nonetheless, there must have been many memories for our mother connected to that piece of furniture as she nourished us, one after the other, with homemade cream of wheat, oatmeal or mashed potatoes and peas. (No Gerbers in those days.)

I’m sure that a lot of planning went into this project of theirs, lots of money and effort as well. One thing for sure: They want us all to know how they feel about their new venture. There will probably never be another day like this in their history.

People find it important to celebrate special occasions: Birthdays, anniversaries, graduations, new jobs, first-time accomplishments, et cetera. For the most part, the persons celebrating want the whole world to know about it too, even though much of the world could probably care less. For these people it’s all-important. First time events have special meaning.

I can remember receiving only two “major” gifts from my father as I was growing up: He bought me a wristwatch for my high school graduation. On the train station when I was headed off for basic training in the U.S. Army, he shook my hand and I found there a fifty-dollar bill! Now, mind you, fifty dollars was no small change in those days, but I remember him saying: “Here’s a little something just in case you need it.” Then he gave me a hug, something he rarely did. He was conservative, of course!

She was also a convert to the Catholic Church. She loved this adopted church so much that she had no fear even taking on the Cardinal Archbishop of New York on issues of war and peace.

Most especially though she was known for founding the Houses of Hospitality that welcomed any and all from the streets of large cities. She personally took on the responsibility of making the daily potato soup and bread, making up the beds, sitting and talking to people as long as they needed someone to talk to.

If you ask folks, particularly on the East Coast, or, say, in Louisiana, where they live, they will tell you: “I live in St. Monica’s Parish or “I live in St. Genieve’s.” Perhaps they will tell you that this is their church because it is the place where they feel ethnically and spiritually comfortable, welcomed, at home. Of course, they will also support and defend that church because it’s theirs. At least that is their conviction.