A wonderful lunch after Sunday mass, fellowship and socializing at Siam café; feasting, laughing, and talking amidst diverse company. Jason, operatic singer, a non-Catholic supplying warmth and depth. A Cuban poet and her surgeon husband leading entertainers. The cultured, world traveling, couple inspire within the dynamics of being human. The Cuban poet is a quick expansive speaker, rambling and brilliant. She told me one story that escalated to the surreal, the words touching on personal ruminations and concerns. She spoke of being young, emigrating to the United States, learning English, attending a Catholic elementary school. During childhood, a teaching nun greatly appealed to her. The admired religious woman made a strong impression, identified with the name Sister Friend of the Family. The Cuban poet as a little girl loved interacting with the nun, always calling her Sister Friend of the Family. One day saddened, she told the sister she did not understand why she did not have a real name. As a child, she knew the nun was a friend to her family, however she wished the nun had a name beyond Sister Friend of the Family. With older insight, comprehending, the nun explained to her that she did have a name and it was Sister Francis Emily. For myself, the whole story enchanted, reverberating on many levels. The Cuban poet is a charm. She admitted I was a bit disheartening for her during my first introduction. She informed me I startled her, drawing forth pity when I came from nowhere and invited her to lunch. I said to her that I thought I was smooth and charming. She disagreed, saying she believed I was a lonely man who needed friends. She said she was so proud to see me now so happy and making friends. I could only laugh, the reaction she commonly illicits. She even coerced my attendance for Ash Wednesday mass at St Paul Shrine. She feels it is important to give me a Rosary pouch from Lourdes, supplying proper storage for my pouchless Rosary gifted by my mother. The Rosary was attained during a visit to Lourdes. It has been weeks since attending a weekly mass at the Shrine. Matters coalesce within the mystery of God, the man of prayer recently involving himself in conversation. He told me of the sublime peace he derives from Cavalry Cemetery, the grave site of Helen Pelczar, a Cleveland stigmatic, a particular source of heavenly inspiration. It is a favorite place, a ‘thin place’, of prayer for the man of prayer. He informed me it is the final resting place for the Poor Clare’s of Perpetual Adoration residing at St Paul Shrine. John the Hermit has left another voice mail. I am leery to listen. The Cuban poet sends an email. I would like to spend prayer time, and reflection, with the man of prayer at the Cavalry Cemetery. All in all, life is life, the Lord good and giving within His silence. The world calls, city life demanding and challenging. My abode, the inexpensive home of keeping for a friend convalscing in Virginia, has been invaded by cotton rats. I have never experienced such a dilemma. Seeking the advice of a professional, guided by the homeowner, an extermination and cleansing process has been put into order. I embrace the strangeness as spiritual, the ridding of the home of rodents as redemptive. It was identified that a qualifying condition was the extensive absence of humans residing. I am never home, sleeping and parting early in the morning. Once the baiting, trapping, ammonia spreading, ridding the basement of debris, and sealing entrance ways is complete, two cats will be acquired. A neighbor informed me it is a sad reality of the neighborhood that if aggressive measures are not put into place rat infestation will be a part of a home’s winter existence. Welcome to city life.