SOMEONE GOT BLESSED ON THANKSGIVING -- THIS IS A BLESSING?

http://undoratrace.quora.com/The-man-who-
found-this-wallet-is-a-liar-and-a-thief

We start this 
article with a
story...







Before you continue reading what I am about to narrate, I suggest that you read the story to which you will be brought by clicking on the link just below the picture.  You 
will get more out of what you read below.

Yesterday was Thanksgiving in the United States.  That means that on this day we are committed to thanking God for the material and spiritual gifts that He has showered upon us in the year just past.  The Atheists also express their gratitude in the manner that they choose. I just thank God that I have the health to follow orders from the Voice from the Kitchen.  That's at the root of this story.  It takes place in the very environment that I described to you yesterday.  So, brace yourselves, this is a true story coming your way.

The person in charge of the household celebration had gone to the supermarket down in the valley.  There she bought a thermometer that she was sure would help to measure the inside temperature of the turket meat that she was going to prepare.  I was about other matters when of a sudden she asked for my thermometric engineering expertise.  
"Honey, how do I use this?"
"Hmmm, what's it for?
"You know, to see how hot the turket meat is."
"This is the wrong tool.  It can't do what you want."
"But it says 'Oven thermometer' doesn't it?"
"It sure does, but what we should have is a 'Meat thermometer' the one that has a long spike on it."
"Oh, I didn't know."
"I'm running now.  This will only take a minute."
"Oh, and by the way, please get a bag of ice and some ice cream."
"Now it's gonna take 30 minutes.  OK?"
"Go.  Go."

So, I go.  I have two options.  I go for the one that I think is going to be a slam dunk.
Ten minutes into the foray I realize that I not getting anywhere in this store, Rite Aid, the one with the French Canadian sounding Manager.  Langevin, from yesterday.
So I walk four doors down to the Chinese super market.  This, I am sure is the jackpot for the thermometer.  Don't forget the ice cream.  Not a hot item in a Chinese place, (Did I say hot?) but they will have to have a meat thermometer. 

Since I am wearing sweat pants without a pair of pockets, I take a shopping cart and put my wallet on the baby seat part in front of the handle.  I run to all the relevant places and find nothing.  Finally, I ask a stocker and he says, "We don't have."  So I park the cart and decide to run back to Rite aid for the ice and the ice cream and perhaps, find the thermometer.  I no sooner go through the Rite Aid door that I realize that I do not have my wallet.  

Aaaabout FACE...zoom over to where I had parked the cart.  No cart.  To security. Tall, handsome, young African, not Somali, wrong kind of nose, I get beyond that and ask about my wallet.  Nope.  To the Customer Service.  Nope. They request that I leave my name.  I do.  D-I-O-N, that's French, I say.

Security says, "Vous parlez francais."
 I say, "oui, et toi, Côte d'Ivoire?  Camaroune? Algérie? Maroc? Congo?"
Bingo, Congo.  We exchange more words in French.  As we're doing that he spots a cart with some baby chinese cabbage laying over my wallet.  He goes over, grabs the wallet and gives it to me.  I open it.  Oh Yeah! I just made my Thanksgiving contribution to a poor soul who needed it more than I.  Everything else is intact. Security and I make a few wise cracks in a language that you don't understand, and we take leave of one another.  I head for Rite Aid, buy the ice cream and ice.  I also find out that they have just sold their last thermometer...the one that could have been mine.

NOW, you think that I'm making this up.  Hey, old people like me don't have that good an imagination.  One last stab in the deep dark corners of Joe's (Jose's, really) 99¢ store.  
"Buenas tardes, Jose."
"Buenas tardes, Señor."
"¿Tienes termometros para medir le temperatura de carne en el horno?" (Do you have meat thermometers?)
"Si! Muchos.  ¿Caro o barato?  (Yes! Many.  Dear or cheap?)
"Cheap."
"$3.50."
Great day.  Robbed twice in a half hour :-)

Hey, there's a happy ending.  The ear to ear smile on the queen when she beholds my conquest.  

Happy ending 2.  She still doesn't know the wallet story.  
Oh, that 15 minutes I was talking about?  Try 60 after all that.

I hope that you enjoyed the introductory story.  No, my wallet did not have $800.00, not even $80...half of that at most...But like I say, someone got to eat better because of it. As a sign of gratitude, the person left me all my important, non cash, items.

Thank God.  It's only money.

AN OLD WHITE GUY LOOSE ON THE SAN DIEGO STREETS

Before I tell you about my Thanksgiving day adventure, let me tell you what happened to me two weeks prior to November 26.

The Voice from the Kitchen and I were in San Diego for a couple of days on the weekend.  We try to do this every week but it's hard to be regular at it because of the commitments that we keep making that prevent it.  So, anyway, this is the barber shop that I "frequent."   The quotation marks there are to make you notice that I use the word loosely.  I mean, I get a haircut once a month whether I need it or not. This last time, I happened to be without my internal combustion engine powered wheels, so I had to make do with the "horsepower" that the Lord gave me -- two gout impaired short legs.  Well, actually they're not THAT short.  They are long enough to reach the ground. Now what's to complain about that?

This establishment fits perfectly into the fabric of the section of San Diego, California in which we have our main residence.  It is owned and operated by a young Chaldean man. He and his "brothers" are the workforce.  They have been operating now for about three years.  The rest of the extended family are in the retail business...Two liquor stores and a general store operation, directly across the street from the barber shop.  I am one of the charter clientele of the barber shop because I am friendly with the rest of the family... I used to drink, remember?
I don't drink any more but I do buy my lottery tickets at the liquor store because they keep promising me that they have an "in" with the Man upstairs.  I believe it too.  Know why? They speak Jesus' native language, Aramaic.  If you ask them what nationality they are they always say, "I'm Chaldean. I'm Catholic."  If you talk to them long enough, you'll find out that they talk Aramaic.  

These guys (no women in this place, except the mothers of the children who are there for haircuts).  Also, no soft background music here.  This place is LOUD.  I mentioned that to them once about 2 years ago.  I said that I wondered of Jesus was loud like they are.  The owner said, "Of course He was.  How do you think He could talk to those people on the hill?"  That kind of put me in my place.  I can't help but think about a loud Virgin Mary, His sweet Mom.  You think she whispered in His ear at Cana?  At this point, I think not.  

I have more about these guys, but let me tell you about my walk home through the heart of Linda Vista.

Here I am, a white guy walking down the street in a region where there is practically no majority ethnicity/nationality.  On the way home I drop by the Chinese owned "96¢ store for some of their scented tea light sized candles.  I get out of there and after a few steps I pass the Korean Baptist church on the one side and the Vietnamese sandwich shop on the other. Then there is the Hmong car repair shop; the San Salvador jeweler; the Mexican flower stand; the little Mexican grocery store; the Chinese supermarket; the Thai restaurant; the Chinese herbalist pharmacy; the Vietnamese jewelers and haberdashers with the obligatory PHO eatery in the mix.  I can't forget the Bank of America branch in which not a single person of European decent works.  Our favorite is the Brazilian VP.  Oh, and finally there is a Rite Aid pharmacy and a McDonalds...I do know that the Mac House is all Latino and that the Rite aid has a white manager, probably from Rhode Island, Langevin.  I've never met him.  There are some Filipinos in the mix too, of course.  They have a small eatery going just off the common.  Yeah, we have a common in Linda Vista.  Not a single, solitary little white Congregationalist church to go with it though.

Getting close to my home base I pass the Methodist church.  The pastor there is a guy who was the Methodist pastor in San Mateo, Isabela, Philippines when I was there. We knew one another and had a polite relationship.  I have never seen him here because I don't spend much time in the neighborhood.  
Finally, I pass the Catholic Church, Holy Family.  The last time I was at the 10:00 AM Mass there, there were twelve white people in attendance in a full church, including the priest. He's a part time guy.  The full time pastor is Vietnamese. Nice guy too.  Young.  

Now the crowning truth.  We live at the top of a key-hole shaped cul-de-sac with 8 residences (houses).  There is one Latino from Sante Fe, New Mexico whose been living in his house for over 40 years.  Turns out that Spanish is not his strong suit.  Then,of course, there is Belle and the two Hapas that she brought into the world.  One of them is gone, so we have two full blooded Filipinos substituting for him...Belle's sister and her husband. That's all

So that's what happened to me two weeks ago.  That's a culturally rich mile.  I should do a PowerPoint show for you.  

IT'S BEEN ONE MONTH SINCE I LAST WROTE TO YOU -- and since November 25, 2010 since # 1 -- 74,000 times viewed since then

Luke 13:6-9 - Parable of the barren fig tree

I have the picture above as the symbol for this article.  I have made up my mind to cultivate this tree with more effort to increase its productivity over the next year.  With God's help,I can do it.

Hey, wanna see what I wrote then? Click here to see it. 

It was the evening of Thanksgiving.  This is the evening of Thanksgiving.  The thoughts do not fly quite so often these days for two reasons.  I have too many things on my plate, among which are two Bible studies, contract work with a translation company and various and sundry other projects that come and go.  One of them is regularly communicating with the Lay La Salette Missionaries around the world and organizing and heading pilgrimages to Israel and various places in Europe.  If I am not mistaken,I think I wrote a piece every day for about 450 days straight.  When I look back on it, I can't imagine how I did it.  And that is not all.  There are topics that I have judged are not what I want to discuss here, for reasons of my own.  But I do want to fulfill my dream of leaving autobiographical material to my sons and to those with enough sense to click and see what lies behind the dead guy who dared us "No Crying at my Funeral."  

  That is a blog that is tied to an online Catholic magazine "ParishWorld.net."

I do not produce weekly for that blog and when I do it is mainly to comment on spiritual and/or doctrinal material for my own sake or the sake of the publication for the good of the faithful readers.  It is a blog that has a religious personality and I compose it when I have something to connect to my general spiritual attitude. I can say, quite honestly that readers of that bog will not cry at my funeral.  They will raise their eyes to heaven and thank God that I have now become His face to face problem.

I have two other blogs that I maintain at varying levels of regularity.  One is quite narrowly focused on the activities and beliefs of the Missionaries of Our Lady of La Salette  and the other is one that I save for my patented rants and that I do not "market" actively.  I simply take the chance that the thoughts that appear there may amuse whomever happens to trip over them by accident during a Google browsing session. That's why over 8 years only 4,000 pairs of eyes have been offended by the content.  

Now it is Thanksgiving again and everyone has gone home after a sumptuous meal of turkey, ham, Lebanese salad, Indian spicy cabbage with sausage, rice and bread, Camenbert following a bracing 1 ounce apéritif of "Makers 46" accompanied by vegetable "lumpia" made by genuine, pure blooded Filipino hands.  The Kentucky bourbon is in the midle of that multicultural pot-pourrit as a political comment.  Too bad that Mitch wasn't here.  (No, I am not a Democrat.  If you followed my blogs, you would know that I vote my mind so that I maintain the right to attack any politician, or all of them collectively.) This year is the first year ever that I voted a straight ticket --  Zero incumbents.

I have a fairly long list of ideas that I would like to unveil for you.  I have them all listed in a very visible part of my computer.  I am reminded of them every day, several times per day.  All I need is the discipline that I had four years ago and get them captured in a blog post for your enjoyment.  

Well,I am now falling victim to the el tryptophan syndrome, so I leave you with a hope and a prayer that you will have many things to thank God for in the coming year.

Oh, BTW, remember, "No Crying at my Funeral."