Blogging My Mind

Got a notice this week that the fine city I live in was trying to deliver a certified letter to me. The name on the front was James Dana. The only people who have ever referred to me as James are the IRS, the U. S. Navy, and the Selective Service Commission when it was going strong.

I went to the post office to retrieve the certified letter. The postal clerk couldn’t find it at first. Seems the letter carrier tried to deliver it to me a second time.

But he finally found it and I had to sign my life away to find out why the city was contacting me.

Well, it seems the James was actually my son, who also has the first name James. And the reason they were contacting James was to tell him he had a city court appearance scheduled next month for a little fender-bender he had this winter.
I thought James had taken care of this situation, but apparently it got lost on his radar screen. So I guess James the Elder will have to look into the conundrum since James the Younger is now living in Charleston.

James of course left behind his golden retriever named Gracie because there’s no room for her in the inn in the Holy City. But Gracie will find him before long - just as soon as she gets her bearings after digging to China in his mother’s yard.

Speaking of James the Younger, I let him drive my truck last month when a special squeeze of his visited from Chicago. He had to meet her at the airport in Columbia. She was five hours late arriving because of weather problems and everything else.

James the Younger couldn’t drive his Pathfinder because he hasn’t cleaned it out since Noah arrived on his ark and let all the animals camp in it. He promised he would not throw his empty fast food containers and empty drink cans in the truck.

All was fine until he called me Easter Sunday from his mother’s house. He was all in a dither because he, Squeezie Pie and his mother were supposed to be going to church. He couldn’t get in the truck because it was locked and he couldn’t find the keys. He wanted to borrow my spare pair. His church clothes were in the truck.

My boys have done this in the past and immediately proceeded to lose the spare keys. Naturally I was hesitant.

But he was panicking because his mother was determined she wasn’t going to be late for church. I gave him the keys and met them at the door of the church because I was called off the bench to usher.

James the Younger has yet to find the original set of keys. They contain the gizmo that automatically opens and locks the doors.

How, I question, could he lose the keys from his mother’s driveway to her house a few steps away? He says they aren’t in the house and they aren’t outside. He doesn’t know where they are unless he “mistakenly” threw them in the trashcan with some other stuff.

I just hope James the Younger can find himself in Charleston as clearly as he did his knob year at The Citadel. If he succeeds in doing this, then maybe it will come to him in a vision one night as to what he did with my truck keys.

Meanwhile, I’m not holding my breath. Besides, I’ve got to figure out how I’m going to stand in for him if he has to go to court because will have probably lost the only key he has to his Pathfinder by then.

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