I made it to the Gulf Coast last night, to a warm welcome from the indescribably hospitable and charming St. Casserole. Pure Luck said, “How will you know her?” I said, “Don’t worry.” And surely, even before I picked out the middle letters on the RevGalBlogPals t-shirt tucked discreetly under a lovely jacket, I knew those bright eyes and that winning smile were hers. There is a long list of things I might do this week, aside from preaching the next two Sundays, but I believe it’s possible we could spend the entire time talking.
Sadly, my suitcase has not yet made St. Casserole’s acquaintance. I know it got as far as Hotlanta, since I saw it being loaded at Big City airport. Perhaps its journey around the outside of the Gigantic Hotlanta Airport was more challenging than my futuristic train ride through the GHA’s underbelly. As of this writing, Delta reports they have no report with regard to its whereabouts.
So this morning I am finishing up my sermon while drinking coffee in a borrowed bathrobe and wondering how many wearings I can get out of my travel clothes. It is easy to stop caring about it when the Pee Pee Puppie is playing at my feet and Whistle and Fish are paying visits, too. They are all three exceptionally adorable.
At least the bag of presents sent by a classroom in City By the Sea for children here arrived with me. Because what’s more important, preaching garb? Or prezzies?