Last year, after my hospitalization, fasting was rather pointless. Nothing tasted right. I could drink and eat anything I wanted and I really didn’t want it. I was thankful for life and very much aware of the nearness of God.

This year, we’ve been so busy with other things that the Lenten season began without me really taking much notice. I’m just not too sure I have a lot of heartburn over it either.

There is a pilgrimage that is made in Europe. It is typically a Catholic pilgrimage but some of our colleagues have talked about making it as a manner of sharing life with people, spending time with people and having a platform from which to discuss spiritual things. This year one of the local TV stations has had a “roving reporter” sort of thing and a young man has been hiking from Belgium to Compostela, Spain. It has been interesting to watch his weekly reports.

The reporter recently encountered a Dominican monk who originally spoke to him in Spanish. The monk sounded so much like my nephew, Jake, that I knew his Spanish was American Spanish! He is 72. After being a “Beatnik”, he studied the Bible and decided to become a Dominican monk. He works now in southern California among the Mexican refugees.

As the young Belgian interviewed this American Dominican, the monk told of the three vows that Dominicans take: poverty, celibacy and obedience. He said that by far obedience was the hardest.

That brought our discussion back to the idea of fasting. It’s not the giving up but rather the doing that is sometimes the harder thing. We need to re-focus. Set our eyes on the goal that God has set before us. Not what we think He wants us to leave behind but what He wants us to achieve.

I do genuinely grieve the loss of this man. He was a sweet, funny curmudgeon of a man. This family will need some time to adjust to him no longer being part of their day to day lives. He was married over 50 years — you can understand why his wife will miss him. My friend lives in an apartment in her parents’ home so she also will miss him.

For me, this ceremony was extremely sad. I’m used to the joy of ceremonies when believers go home. That joy was missing. I was used to sadness being mixed with the hope of seeing our loved one again. That hope was missing. There was talk of “living on in your thoughts” but no talk of eternal life.

I cried. I realize that I have grown to love this family and they just don’t “get it”. They don’t have a clue what they are missing. There are not just senior adults in this family, people who have lived their lives without God and who are clueless that His heart is broken over them but there are young adults in this family. These are young adults who missed growing up being told “Yes! Jesus loves you.” The whole family is unaware, blind, deaf, clueless that yes, Jesus does indeed love them.

Oh, God break their hearts and open their eyes. The enemy has them bound and unaware that You have won this war.

We left for the Friday Market this morning. We took the tram to the Duivelsteen Castle — where it has to reverse direction since it can go no further. We planned to walk the rest of the distance into town. Friday Market is both a place and an event. Most days, there are restaurants and stores that exist with the address of Friday Market and sell their various “goods” to all who visit. On Friday’s, there are extra vendors who come in and set up shop in the middle of the plaza that these others encircle. When these extra folks are here, you can buy cheap clothes, fresher fish, horse meat, cheap tablecloths and towels, and our favorite, apples and pears that come from Belgium. The vegetable/fruit vendor sells other fruits and vegetables as well. Some of his produce comes from Italy or Spain or France. In season, he has field crates of Belgian pears and apples that he sells by the kilo. I recently made apple butter with some of his apples.

Is it? If so, how does that happen . . . “the joy of the Lord” I mean? How do we receive Joy from the Lord? Do we receive it through the indwelling of His spirit in us? The Bible says that joy is a fruit of the Spirit. If I have the Spirit living in me, I have joy, right? If I have joy, I have strength, right? Does my weakness testify that God is a liar or that I “don’t know [my own] strength”?

It is interesting to read and reread Paul’s dissertation on this in Romans. ‘We wait with patience’, ‘The Spirit helps in our weakness’ … such as that. Today in Hebrews, I noted some confusion on my part. Hebrews 11:5 speaks of Enoch “having pleased God”. I was reading in Dutch so the wording is a little different. It says literally that Enoch “was known as someone in whom God found joy”.

Joy? Hmmm. It goes on to say that “without faith/belief it is impossible to give God joy”. Same word again. Joy. So from there my mind went to thinking, “the joy of the Lord is my strength”. Does that mean the joy God gives me or the joy I give God? I don’t read Hebrew, the language. I don’t even pretend to on TV. The folks who have studied Hebrews translate the verse in Nehemiah as saying that the joy that comes from the Lord is my strength.

So my strength comes from the joy that God gives me. It comes from the Spirit dwelling in me and making me” joy-full”. My strength doesn’t come from making God joyful. It doesn’t come from living in faith/belief. It doesn’t come from living life knowing that, as one corny person put it, “When God is all you have, God is all you need”.

Or does it? I don’t read Hebrew. I just trust that the folks who did the translating got all those subjects, direct objects and indirect objects in the right place. What if they’re wrong?

Just thinking . . .

We left for the Friday Market this morning. We took the tram to the Duivelsteen Castle — where it has to reverse direction since it can go no further. We planned to walk the rest of the distance into town. Friday Market is both a place and an event. Most days, there are restaurants and stores that exist with the address of Friday Market and sell their various “goods” to all who visit. On Friday’s, there are extra vendors who come in and set up shop in the middle of the plaza that these others encircle. When these extra folks are here, you can buy cheap clothes, fresher fish, horse meat, cheap tablecloths and towels, and our favorite, apples and pears that come from Belgium. The vegetable/fruit vendor sells other fruits and vegetables as well. Some of his produce comes from Italy or Spain or France. In season, he has field crates of Belgian pears and apples that he sells by the kilo. I recently made apple butter with some of his apples.

We went to the market early. We took the tram as far as we could and walked the rest of the way. John asked for 5 kilos of pears and apples mixed. I got a head of cauliflower and five figs. John put the heavy stuff in his backpack. I carried the figs. We stopped on the way back and had coffee/tea/chocolate croissants. Then we headed for the castle to take the tram.

When we arrived, there were not one but three trams waiting. We joked with the drivers about whether they were having a “strike”. One driver told us that it would probably be quicker for us to walk to the station. He said that the first tram was broken. Lucy asked if we needed to push it for him. John told him to just pull forward and then off to the right.

I’m enjoying being able to joke with locals. We all experience the little challenges of day to day life. It’s fun to be able to laugh and go on.

He also said, “Then the King will say to the people on his right, ‘Come, my Father has given you his blessing. Receive the kingdom God has prepared for you since the world was made. I was hungry, and you gave me food. I was thirsty, and you gave me something to drink. I was alone and away from home, and you invited me into your house. I was without clothes, and you gave me something to wear. I was sick, and you cared for me. I was in prison, and you visited me.’” (Matthew 25:34-36 NCV)

It seems clear that giving cold water, feeding, sheltering, caring, clothing and visiting are all ways we can demonstrate God’s love and be salt and light in the community. But what about cookies?

In just a few days we will be sharing cookies in Jesus’ name. Last year, during the Gentse Feesten, we identified several groups of people who work very hard for the 10 days. The tram and bus drivers work almost 24/7 for 10 days shuttling around 1.5 million visitors into and out of the city. The sanitation workers removed 124,000 metric tons of trash last year just from the festival area (then they clean their assigned part of town). The police and private security guards deal with all kinds of people. Most are pleasant but some can be a challenge.

Certainly these workers may be seen as “the least” or are the least visible but work hard and should be highly appreciated. So, we are going to be passing out small sacks of cookies with thank you notes from some of the local, evangelical churches. Currently we have three of the local churches promising to partner with us in this effort. This effort requires 1,500 to 2,000 cookies per day. Partners in America are providing the gift sacks and we are recruiting as many cookie bakers as possible. There is a precedent for multiplying loaves and fish but what about cookies? Not sure breaking them will work?

These workers do work hard and deserve our thanks. In addition to thanking them, we hope to show them what an exchanged and transformed life looks like during the Gentse Feesten. We hope to be able to show them God’s love and tell them how they can experience it personally.

July 18-27 will be busy days. We are reminded that Jesus walked among the people to demonstrate God’s love, pray we can as well.

He’s my “Daddy” but after I married and left home, my brothers began calling him “Pop”. All the grandkids call him “Pop” as well. I figured that was only fair since my Granny was married to my Poppa.

Pop came to visit our Belgian home in December 2008. He was interested in our “koelberging” — that’s pronounced “cool berging”, simple enough and means the outdoor cool storage our apartment up on the sixth floor is afforded by the huge slab of blue stone marble that sits beside the front terrace. In the winter months and during the late fall and early spring, the temperature there is perfectly fine for storing extra supplies, vegetables, drinks, even leftovers, that need cool temperatures. We have a tiny [8 or 9 cubic feet] apartment refrigerator. The extra storage certainly comes in handy at times.

So, when he visited, being the ex-military, strategic thinking, “varmint hunter” that he is, Pop asked about the security of our supplies. Isn’t it said somewhere that the military marches on its stomach or something like that? Being former Air Force, Pop was trained in anticipating aerial attacks. We are up on the sixth floor after all so we don’t anticipate the arrival of any cruise ships or tanks that might reach us. An aerial attack? Well, that is certainly a possibility.

Did I mention that Pop is a varmint hunter? He has fought foxes and gophers, skunks and “no-see-ums”, not to mention the wild hogs for years. They’ve attacked his gardens, his guinea fowl and his kitchen. There is one squirrel that has regularly made raids in the back door of Pop’s kitchen for years. Pop has set traps, fired weapons and at times just given in and fed them. He knew that my koelberging was at risk for an attack. It was only a matter of time.

Our front terrace overlooks a portion of park that is home to pigeons, magpies and the occasional stray dog. The pigeons are infamous for seeking human food to eat. This is probably the result of silly humans feeding them. In defense of those humans, can you think of something better to do with leftover bread? Almost any day of the week, you can see the torn pieces of bread that someone dumps out in the park to be gobbled up by the crows, gulls and pigeons that find them and alert their friends.

During the summer that we first moved in here, the terrace next to us became home to two pigeons that built a nest in a flowerbox and proceeded to raise a small family there. The second summer, we watched the recurrence of the nesting and setting. We weren’t sure if the couple were the original pair, offspring of the original or just another random pair that liked the looks of the neighborhood. We realized that the proximity of their home out our home even more at risk.

This year the neighbor next door had cleaned up and rearranged the flowerboxes. They were repotted, after two “empty years” with living vegetation. This makes building a nest rather a challenge. There have been visits next door from several pigeons that have come to assess the possibility of homebuilding on the terrace. I believe I even saw the beginnings of a next but those beginnings were gone after last week’s very strong storm. During the assessment/survey process, there has been the occasional landing of a pigeon on the balcony railing of our apartment. I hurriedly explained to them that this area was not available and they headed off. If John had been left to “explain” it to them . . . well, I shudder to think. He has no mercy.

So after all these preliminaries, I must tell you that the attack Pop feared finally came today. He was right; it was indeed an aerial attack. It wasn’t from the magpies. It wasn’t from the crows. It wasn’t even from the gulls. It was the pigeons. Yes, indeed, those “rats with wings”, as John calls them, attacked.

The attack was from below. He was flying, I assume, under the radar. I assume that if he’d needed speed, he’d have gone higher and come in from above. He was using stealth. He was going to fly in low and take cover in the flora of the terrace. He’d spotted the flowerbox filled with deep purple petunias which appeared to afford him a place to land quickly and hide. He evidently hadn’t been keeping track of the weather to know that it’s been warm here lately. If he had, he’d have realized that the supplies had been moved. Potatoes tend to sprout when they are left out in warm sunny places. Coca-cola actually lightens in color if not protected from the light. Leftovers become poisonous in the lovely warm days we’ve been enjoying. He didn’t know that his target was gone. He only knew he had to attempt to get to the terrace unnoticed, land and quickly take cover.

He aimed for the petunias. He took off from below and headed straight for the flowerboxes that afforded him potential cover. His flight was short and swift. He slowed just enough at the end to attempt a safe landing. He slowed just enough to quietly land and hide. He slowed . . . but it wasn’t enough and then it hit him. Well, actually, he hit it. That force-field, that safety shield, that glass balcony railing that lets John enjoy watching all the travel in the park in the mornings but keeps us all safe when we walk out or sit out on the balcony. He slowed but not enough. He slowed but it was too late. He flew into the glass.

The petunias survived. The glass survived. The pigeon has not been seen since but certainly did not end up lying on the road down below our apartment. We have to assume he survived. There was one casualty the day of the attack and one near fatality. The pigeon’s pride was certainly injured. I believe John almost died laughing.

Yes, the attack Pop feared finally came and my dear sweet husband was almost a casualty.

He’s my “Daddy” but after I married and left home, my brothers began calling him “Pop”. All the grandkids call him “Pop” as well. I figured that was only fair since my Granny was married to my Poppa.

Pop came to visit our Belgian home in December 2008. He was interested in our “koelberging” — that’s pronounced “cool berging”, simple enough and means the outdoor cool storage our apartment up on the sixth floor is afforded by the huge slab of blue stone marble that sits beside the front terrace. In the winter months and during the late fall and early spring, the temperature there is perfectly fine for storing extra supplies, vegetables, drinks, even leftovers, that need cool temperatures. We have a tiny [8 or 9 cubic feet] apartment refrigerator. The extra storage certainly comes in handy at times.

So, when he visited, being the ex-military, strategic thinking, “varmint hunter” that he is, Pop asked about the security of our supplies. Isn’t it said somewhere that the military marches on its stomach or something like that? Being former Air Force, Pop was trained in anticipating aerial attacks. We are up on the sixth floor after all so we don’t anticipate the arrival of any cruise ships or tanks that might reach us. An aerial attack? Well, that is certainly a possibility.

Did I mention that Pop is a varmint hunter? He has fought foxes and gophers, skunks and “no-see-ums”, not to mention the wild hogs for years. They’ve attacked his gardens, his guinea fowl and his kitchen. There is one squirrel that has regularly made raids in the back door of Pop’s kitchen for years. Pop has set traps, fired weapons and at times just given in and fed them. He knew that my koelberging was at risk for an attack. It was only a matter of time.

Our front terrace overlooks a portion of park that is home to pigeons, magpies and the occasional stray dog. The pigeons are infamous for seeking human food to eat. This is probably the result of silly humans feeding them. In defense of those humans, can you think of something better to do with leftover bread? Almost any day of the week, you can see the torn pieces of bread that someone dumps out in the park to be gobbled up by the crows, gulls and pigeons that find them and alert their friends.

During the summer that we first moved in here, the terrace next to us became home to two pigeons that built a nest in a flowerbox and proceeded to raise a small family there. The second summer, we watched the recurrence of the nesting and setting. We weren’t sure if the couple were the original pair, offspring of the original or just another random pair that liked the looks of the neighborhood. We realized that the proximity of their home out our home even more at risk.

This year the neighbor next door had cleaned up and rearranged the flowerboxes. They were repotted, after two “empty years” with living vegetation. This makes building a nest rather a challenge. There have been visits next door from several pigeons that have come to assess the possibility of homebuilding on the terrace. I believe I even saw the beginnings of a next but those beginnings were gone after last week’s very strong storm. During the assessment/survey process, there has been the occasional landing of a pigeon on the balcony railing of our apartment. I hurriedly explained to them that this area was not available and they headed off. If John had been left to “explain” it to them . . . well, I shudder to think. He has no mercy.

So after all these preliminaries, I must tell you that the attack Pop feared finally came today. He was right; it was indeed an aerial attack. It wasn’t from the magpies. It wasn’t from the crows. It wasn’t even from the gulls. It was the pigeons. Yes, indeed, those “rats with wings”, as John calls them, attacked.

The attack was from below. He was flying, I assume, under the radar. I assume that if he’d needed speed, he’d have gone higher and come in from above. He was using stealth. He was going to fly in low and take cover in the flora of the terrace. He’d spotted the flowerbox filled with deep purple petunias which appeared to afford him a place to land quickly and hide. He evidently hadn’t been keeping track of the weather to know that it’s been warm here lately. If he had, he’d have realized that the supplies had been moved. Potatoes tend to sprout when they are left out in warm sunny places. Coca-cola actually lightens in color if not protected from the light. Leftovers become poisonous in the lovely warm days we’ve been enjoying. He didn’t know that his target was gone. He only knew he had to attempt to get to the terrace unnoticed, land and quickly take cover.

He aimed for the petunias. He took off from below and headed straight for the flowerboxes that afforded him potential cover. His flight was short and swift. He slowed just enough at the end to attempt a safe landing. He slowed just enough to quietly land and hide. He slowed . . . but it wasn’t enough and then it hit him. Well, actually, he hit it. That force-field, that safety shield, that glass balcony railing that lets John enjoy watching all the travel in the park in the mornings but keeps us all safe when we walk out or sit out on the balcony. He slowed but not enough. He slowed but it was too late. He flew into the glass.

The petunias survived. The glass survived. The pigeon has not been seen since but certainly did not end up lying on the road down below our apartment. We have to assume he survived. There was one casualty the day of the attack and one near fatality. The pigeon’s pride was certainly injured. I believe John almost died laughing.

Yes, the attack Pop feared finally came and my dear sweet husband was almost a casualty.

He’s my “Daddy” but after I married and left home, my brothers began calling him “Pop”. All the grandkids call him “Pop” as well. I figured that was only fair since my Granny was married to my Poppa.

Pop came to visit our Belgian home in December 2008. He was interested in our “koelberging” — that’s pronounced “cool berging”, simple enough and means the outdoor cool storage our apartment up on the sixth floor is afforded by the huge slab of blue stone marble that sits beside the front terrace. In the winter months and during the late fall and early spring, the temperature there is perfectly fine for storing extra supplies, vegetables, drinks, even leftovers, that need cool temperatures. We have a tiny [8 or 9 cubic feet] apartment refrigerator. The extra storage certainly comes in handy at times.

So, when he visited, being the ex-military, strategic thinking, “varmint hunter” that he is, Pop asked about the security of our supplies. Isn’t it said somewhere that the military marches on its stomach or something like that? Being former Air Force, Pop was trained in anticipating aerial attacks. We are up on the sixth floor after all so we don’t anticipate the arrival of any cruise ships or tanks that might reach us. An aerial attack? Well, that is certainly a possibility.

Did I mention that Pop is a varmint hunter? He has fought foxes and gophers, skunks and “no-see-ums”, not to mention the wild hogs for years. They’ve attacked his gardens, his guinea fowl and his kitchen. There is one squirrel that has regularly made raids in the back door of Pop’s kitchen for years. Pop has set traps, fired weapons and at times just given in and fed them. He knew that my koelberging was at risk for an attack. It was only a matter of time.

Our front terrace overlooks a portion of park that is home to pigeons, magpies and the occasional stray dog. The pigeons are infamous for seeking human food to eat. This is probably the result of silly humans feeding them. In defense of those humans, can you think of something better to do with leftover bread? Almost any day of the week, you can see the torn pieces of bread that someone dumps out in the park to be gobbled up by the crows, gulls and pigeons that find them and alert their friends.

During the summer that we first moved in here, the terrace next to us became home to two pigeons that built a nest in a flowerbox and proceeded to raise a small family there. The second summer, we watched the recurrence of the nesting and setting. We weren’t sure if the couple were the original pair, offspring of the original or just another random pair that liked the looks of the neighborhood. We realized that the proximity of their home out our home even more at risk.

This year the neighbor next door had cleaned up and rearranged the flowerboxes. They were repotted, after two “empty years” with living vegetation. This makes building a nest rather a challenge. There have been visits next door from several pigeons that have come to assess the possibility of homebuilding on the terrace. I believe I even saw the beginnings of a next but those beginnings were gone after last week’s very strong storm. During the assessment/survey process, there has been the occasional landing of a pigeon on the balcony railing of our apartment. I hurriedly explained to them that this area was not available and they headed off. If John had been left to “explain” it to them . . . well, I shudder to think. He has no mercy.

So after all these preliminaries, I must tell you that the attack Pop feared finally came today. He was right; it was indeed an aerial attack. It wasn’t from the magpies. It wasn’t from the crows. It wasn’t even from the gulls. It was the pigeons. Yes, indeed, those “rats with wings”, as John calls them, attacked.

The attack was from below. He was flying, I assume, under the radar. I assume that if he’d needed speed, he’d have gone higher and come in from above. He was using stealth. He was going to fly in low and take cover in the flora of the terrace. He’d spotted the flowerbox filled with deep purple petunias which appeared to afford him a place to land quickly and hide. He evidently hadn’t been keeping track of the weather to know that it’s been warm here lately. If he had, he’d have realized that the supplies had been moved. Potatoes tend to sprout when they are left out in warm sunny places. Coca-cola actually lightens in color if not protected from the light. Leftovers become poisonous in the lovely warm days we’ve been enjoying. He didn’t know that his target was gone. He only knew he had to attempt to get to the terrace unnoticed, land and quickly take cover.

He aimed for the petunias. He took off from below and headed straight for the flowerboxes that afforded him potential cover. His flight was short and swift. He slowed just enough at the end to attempt a safe landing. He slowed just enough to quietly land and hide. He slowed . . . but it wasn’t enough and then it hit him. Well, actually, he hit it. That force-field, that safety shield, that glass balcony railing that lets John enjoy watching all the travel in the park in the mornings but keeps us all safe when we walk out or sit out on the balcony. He slowed but not enough. He slowed but it was too late. He flew into the glass.

The petunias survived. The glass survived. The pigeon has not been seen since but certainly did not end up lying on the road down below our apartment. We have to assume he survived. There was one casualty the day of the attack and one near fatality. The pigeon’s pride was certainly injured. I believe John almost died laughing.

Yes, the attack Pop feared finally came and my dear sweet husband was almost a casualty.

He’s my “Daddy” but after I married and left home, my brothers began calling him “Pop”. All the grandkids call him “Pop” as well. I figured that was only fair since my Granny was married to my Poppa.

Pop came to visit our Belgian home in December 2008. He was interested in our “koelberging” — that’s pronounced “cool berging”, simple enough and means the outdoor cool storage our apartment up on the sixth floor is afforded by the huge slab of blue stone marble that sits beside the front terrace. In the winter months and during the late fall and early spring, the temperature there is perfectly fine for storing extra supplies, vegetables, drinks, even leftovers, that need cool temperatures. We have a tiny [8 or 9 cubic feet] apartment refrigerator. The extra storage certainly comes in handy at times.

So, when he visited, being the ex-military, strategic thinking, “varmint hunter” that he is, Pop asked about the security of our supplies. Isn’t it said somewhere that the military marches on its stomach or something like that? Being former Air Force, Pop was trained in anticipating aerial attacks. We are up on the sixth floor after all so we don’t anticipate the arrival of any cruise ships or tanks that might reach us. An aerial attack? Well, that is certainly a possibility.

Did I mention that Pop is a varmint hunter? He has fought foxes and gophers, skunks and “no-see-ums”, not to mention the wild hogs for years. They’ve attacked his gardens, his guinea fowl and his kitchen. There is one squirrel that has regularly made raids in the back door of Pop’s kitchen for years. Pop has set traps, fired weapons and at times just given in and fed them. He knew that my koelberging was at risk for an attack. It was only a matter of time.

Our front terrace overlooks a portion of park that is home to pigeons, magpies and the occasional stray dog. The pigeons are infamous for seeking human food to eat. This is probably the result of silly humans feeding them. In defense of those humans, can you think of something better to do with leftover bread? Almost any day of the week, you can see the torn pieces of bread that someone dumps out in the park to be gobbled up by the crows, gulls and pigeons that find them and alert their friends.

During the summer that we first moved in here, the terrace next to us became home to two pigeons that built a nest in a flowerbox and proceeded to raise a small family there. The second summer, we watched the recurrence of the nesting and setting. We weren’t sure if the couple were the original pair, offspring of the original or just another random pair that liked the looks of the neighborhood. We realized that the proximity of their home out our home even more at risk.

This year the neighbor next door had cleaned up and rearranged the flowerboxes. They were repotted, after two “empty years” with living vegetation. This makes building a nest rather a challenge. There have been visits next door from several pigeons that have come to assess the possibility of homebuilding on the terrace. I believe I even saw the beginnings of a next but those beginnings were gone after last week’s very strong storm. During the assessment/survey process, there has been the occasional landing of a pigeon on the balcony railing of our apartment. I hurriedly explained to them that this area was not available and they headed off. If John had been left to “explain” it to them . . . well, I shudder to think. He has no mercy.

So after all these preliminaries, I must tell you that the attack Pop feared finally came today. He was right; it was indeed an aerial attack. It wasn’t from the magpies. It wasn’t from the crows. It wasn’t even from the gulls. It was the pigeons. Yes, indeed, those “rats with wings”, as John calls them, attacked.

The attack was from below. He was flying, I assume, under the radar. I assume that if he’d needed speed, he’d have gone higher and come in from above. He was using stealth. He was going to fly in low and take cover in the flora of the terrace. He’d spotted the flowerbox filled with deep purple petunias which appeared to afford him a place to land quickly and hide. He evidently hadn’t been keeping track of the weather to know that it’s been warm here lately. If he had, he’d have realized that the supplies had been moved. Potatoes tend to sprout when they are left out in warm sunny places. Coca-cola actually lightens in color if not protected from the light. Leftovers become poisonous in the lovely warm days we’ve been enjoying. He didn’t know that his target was gone. He only knew he had to attempt to get to the terrace unnoticed, land and quickly take cover.

He aimed for the petunias. He took off from below and headed straight for the flowerboxes that afforded him potential cover. His flight was short and swift. He slowed just enough at the end to attempt a safe landing. He slowed just enough to quietly land and hide. He slowed . . . but it wasn’t enough and then it hit him. Well, actually, he hit it. That force-field, that safety shield, that glass balcony railing that lets John enjoy watching all the travel in the park in the mornings but keeps us all safe when we walk out or sit out on the balcony. He slowed but not enough. He slowed but it was too late. He flew into the glass.

The petunias survived. The glass survived. The pigeon has not been seen since but certainly did not end up lying on the road down below our apartment. We have to assume he survived. There was one casualty the day of the attack and one near fatality. The pigeon’s pride was certainly injured. I believe John almost died laughing.

Yes, the attack Pop feared finally came and my dear sweet husband was almost a casualty.