John and I were going to a funeral of someone grandson Nathaniel didn’t know. The service was in Sylva, so we dropped Nathaniel off in the main part of town while we went to it. He likes exploring towns on foot, wandering in any store that strikes his fancy. This is something he has done with his dad, as well as with us. He had seen everything he wanted to see when we picked him up. In one shop he had a nice conversation with a couple of people about an antique coffee grinder. He mentioned several other items as we drove home.
We must have been half way home when Nathaniel remembered seeing a cookie jar he thought we would have liked. When he described it, I almost began to drool. He had no way of knowing that I had been longing for a cookie jar to replace our old chipped one. Did he remember where he saw it? Yes, it was in the consignment shop next to the music store, halfway back on the right. We had gone too far to turn back, and the two fellows were driving to New York the very next day. There was no use being disappointed about something I’d never seen, so I let it go.
The day after John returned from that 1,600-mile drive, he asked, “Would you like to go back to look for the cookie jar?”
If that isn’t true love, I don’t know what is!
That’s the story of how the friar came to live at our house. Judging by his expression, I think he likes his new home. If I can keep his tummy filled without lifting the lid to help myself, I’ll have it made.