Wandered around the first Latino grocery for a few minutes, unsuccessful. Couldn’t find the King Cakes. Finally spotted a rack near the front of the store with one left. Got right up to it, ready for victory when some other, tiny, barely five foot tall woman appeared from nowhere, reached under my outstretched arm, grabbed it, and rushed to the cash register. She grinned at me as I made the empty-handed Loser Walk to the door.
“You got it,” I congratulated her.
No doubt. ”I got it!” she agreed, clutching the box that seemed about as large as she was.
So up Green Springs Road to the next one, next to Office Depot. There was a van from a local Hispanic radio station out front, adults setting up tables, and mobs of little children.
Inside, no shortage. Stacks of cakes still waiting. The cashier said the radio station was giving out presents to the children.
Back home, I made my guess as to where the Child was. There was a lump, I said. I think it’s there. We cut it there, but it was only cake.
Joseph made is guess. ”I think it’s there,” he said, pointing.
And it was. He has a knack for finding things, that one.
Then we asked God to bless our house and I got the ladder out and because we had no chalk I just handed Joseph a marker and told him to write it above the door.
20 + C + M + B + 12.
Reasoning that there’s such a thing as white paint, when the time might come that we’d want to cover it up.
But I don’t know day that would be. I can’t think of one myself.
R A T S .
Your post just made me realize that I forgot to pick up my pre-paid Rosca yesterday!
~sigh~ Pues, ni modo, as my mother would say. I can always blame the Dixie-like weather up here in Chicago-land.