The Start of the New

I hardly know where to begin.

Happy Easter! Let's start with that.

I might dye some eggs. I have eggs. I have dye. I very nearly have a life of leisure!

Don't worry about the egg dying being too pagan. It may have indeed been pagan at some point, but we grabbed it up like a Christmas tree and gave it a lovely Christian meaning of renewal of life and hope.

I could use a little of that right now.

You may recall, way back in January, that I had to go to the Midwest and take care of my mother, who became ill, who was taking care of my father, who was already bed-ridden.

My mother got well. Very well. Not all the way back to normal, though, so we spent some time getting her some more help taking care of Dad. I was just about to come back home.

Which is when Dad, who is as frail as balsa wood, had another heart attack or two. He is back at home now, on hospice. I stayed and stayed. I came home again. I went back again. Dad didn't read the little booklet that they give you from the hospice workers which explains how to read the signs that the end is near. He's had all the signs for years. Discoloration, labored breathing, loss of appetite, you name it.

But he is going. There is no doubt about that.

So there is much to do and I will be headed back to the Midwest again any second.

Meanwhile, back here, we have had Sister St. Aloysius all alone with Sister Mary Fiacre and the house all this time. We know what happens in these times. In the middle of all this, Sister St. Aloysius had to have surgery on her nose. (Not plastic surgery because her nose was too big. She has a perfectly fine nose. Now it is actually functioning properly.)

So we've had to get Sister St. Aloysius some help and now we have Sister Nicholas.

I had never met Sister Nicholas. She arrived while I was away. Since Dad isn't following the rules, my mother and I decided I should come home for a while again.
(During my travels I had some really good old fashioned Lenten sacrifice. I'll tell you about that later.) Sister Nicholas was in the house somewhere when I arrived. Not that I could see her.

It's a small house. I was very concerned about her coming, as I do live here and there is no room as it is. I needn't have concerned myself. Sister Nicholas is so tiny, she could sleep in a dresser drawer or one the low cabinets. In fact, I think she may be doing just that.

I heard her before I saw her. I thought for a moment the neighbors had purchased a chihuahua or that Teddy was in distress,
but it was Sister Nicholas cajoling Sister Mary Fiacre to change from the wheelchair to her easy chair. It turns out that Sister Nicholas was right in the room, blocked by Sister Mary Fiacre's bulk and wheelchair. Suddenly Sister Mary Fiacre was in the chair and there was a new nun in the room. No chihuahuas.

Are there any tiny people who are lazy? I've never met one. Sister Nicholas is a ball of fire, a triple threat of tirelessness: she's tiny, she's Catholic and she's a nun.

I can barely lift an a finger or an eyebrow that Sister Nicholas doesn't leap to her feet to see if she can help, do it for me, find six other things that need doing, and put a bow on it. Hallelujah! And she's really, really bossy. It is just excellent. I don't even have to think, she'll tell me what to do next. Praise the Lord!

So I may dye some eggs.


Unless she sees me headed for the kitchen, in which case she'll dash right through my legs, boil the eggs, dye them, paint them, hide them, find them again and make egg salad before I get across the hall.

I love egg salad.

Thanks in advance for all your prayers.