Dear St. Anthony

Please come around

Something’s been lost

And cannot be found.

My mother was my first teacher, and she taught me many things.

Hope makes you feel good. So does coffee.

Laughing makes you feel better. So do hugs.

Breathing makes you feel great. So does a nap.

Stay together. (aka Don’t fall apart.)

And this one:  Praying helps us find things. It ALWAYS works. It’s kind of incredible. Call out your missing item and the thing shows up–in your pocket, where you already looked three times, on the bottom shelf of the fridge, under the socks in the drawer–right in front of you. Remarkable.

Unless, of course, the thing was never lost. Like if a giant wave in the Atlantic Ocean knocks off your glasses and you cry out in anguish, engage the help of strangers to crawl on their knees in the surf, lament your 800 mile drive home, and then whisper in my ear, “Laur, did I have them on?” This from my sister at the beach in August.

She sneaks out of the waves, tiptoes to our chairs, rummages in her bag, and turns to me with a grin and thumbs up.

After she reluctantly admits to the rescue team she found them (she doesn’t say they were in her bag and not on her face), she says to me, “I was praying to St. Anthony.”

Me: “So was I. What a waste.”

Her: “Whadaya mean? We found them!”

Me: “That doesn’t count; they were never lost!”

My mother also taught me to enjoy my sister. She’s the best.

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