Let me see what I can come up with "in real time."
A tiny distraction from the Georgia horrors.
OK....
THE CASE OF THE FELONIOUS FRIAR
It was clear last Sunday morning, that both my Nana Jen and my little brother were a bit worse for the wear. Feeling fragile. Hungover at 89 and 13, respectively.
1.
After feeding them both dry toast and gingerale, I sat the two down for a debriefing.
From Whence the booze?
Narrator's Note: As you may wonder why I would be prosecuting my fully grown Nan, she had vowed to live clean after several bouts of pancreatic (or The Belly Miseries) and was even now regretting Saturday night.
So ON now.
On the table before me:
* One empty of Boone's Farm Strawberry.
* One grape-stained Tupperware
* One crisp $5 bill.
TO BE CONTINUED!!!!
Taking one glance at the Boone's Farm, my brother turned even more praline, and crumbled.
"It was just half filled after I filled up the Communion bottle! I thought it was Kool Aid!"
Praline should be "pealike."
"You WHAAT!"
Letting it sink in, I turned to Nan.
"Did you put him up to this Gran? Are you making Elixir again?"
We were interrupted by a knpck in the door. Brother Harold!
Did he know???
"Helllloooo Mrs. Murphy. I have another Tupperware full. When is your granddaughter back!?!
She was ALREADY back!
The Brother had just crossed the threshold when he saw me. Edging back, he slipped on a pesky bit of linoleum that kept loosening, flew feet up in the air, and down went the Tupperware. SPLOOSH!
Yup. It was a clear conspiracy. Elixir of Bacchus, the "good" communion wine with a nip of rye and black pepper, but Nan ended high on her supply.
The poor Brother, unable to fundraise enough Mint Julep penny candy had been recruited after Gran's old source, Gertrude was felled by a plantar's wart.
And my little brother? Bought off with the wonderfully shakeable silver tin supposedly containing part if St. Betnadette's happiness.
A grubby lstrawberry-wine-stained hand poked into my field of vision grasping something small and silver.
Gran's relic! Saint Bernadette! Or, a tiny vial of a bone that was supposedly part of her hip. My brother loved to shake it in its tiny velvet nest.
"Here. Don't LIKE being a criminal!"
Out burst a sob, followed by a berry scented burp. Bribed by his own Nan!
I got him cleaned up, and confiscated the relic for later viewing, after we had gone to Confession (me for the sin of Pride), INCLUDING The Felonious Friar!
Read a phrase tonight from travel writer Erin Byrne:
"Travel deeply."
Even when circumstances limit our range of movement, one can be deeply touched by a tiny sliver of activity at any moment. See, hear, ponder. Search for ephipany.
Keep journal and clippets ("clippings"). Narrative thread may not arrive all at once. The essay (that needs better proofing) below on artisans and their slow and steady movement grew over a decade.