It was snowing, and I thought about Scotland how the Central Belt (from Glasgow to Edinburgh) ground to a halt last week because of blizzards. It's easy to laugh at the British for their inability to cope with snow, but without snow tires or any kind of snow safety training, it's hard to see how they could. Meanwhile, Mum and I had proper tires, but as soon as we started driving up the bridge (literally up), I began to pray. The crossing lasted one quick decade of the rosary.
This would be difficult for people from reformed traditions to understand, but since Benedict Ambrose's dramatic recovery, I've concluded our family patroness must be the Immaculate Heart of Mary. The Immaculate Heart of Mary was most definitely in my thoughts as we crossed that bridge, as was Benedict Ambrose. I realised that, having prayed for him at Mass that morning, it was more than likely that he had prayed for me at Mass that morning. This was a very comforting thought.
This year my trip home has been unusual in that I've been working from 9-5 almost every weekday--although occasionally I take lunch out instead of just working through lunchtime with a bowl of food on the desk. It has made it more difficult to see everyone I want to see, as often as I want to see them. But at the same time, I'm grateful that I have a job I can do anywhere there is an internet connection.
The sacrifice is time to really reflect on how everyone is and what has changed over the past year. The children are all taller, of course. My seven-year-old niece now says she hates pink and wants to wear black all the time. She has drawn a skull-and-crossbones which now adorn her bedroom door. I asked her if she was a Goth, and she didn't know what a Goth was, so that's not it. My nine-year-old nephew is less noisily rebellious. The candy store in my brother's village has shut down. The bookshop, thank heavens, survives.
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