… elbow.<\/p>\n
I’m still chuckling over what happened yesterday morning as we were getting ready for Mass. I had my handy-dandy-never-wrinkle dress, but desperately needed the slip to go with it. It wasn’t where I thought I remembered putting it, so I asked St. Anthony to help me find it. He’s helped me on numerous occasions, and one of his favorite ways seems to be by giving me a clue in my email. Don’t ask me why; I think maybe he feels he was born in the wrong generation?<\/p>\n
Anyway, I checked the first message in the inbox, and it was one I’d already read. The only part I hadn’t read was the signature, so I read it. It was about music. Ok, rush to the side of the bed where the clock radio is, I think. I couldn’t find it anywhere. About that time, my son<\/a> came into the room. “Andy,” I said, “Anthony is your patron saint.” (He chose the name Anthony at confirmation because, as he put it, “He finds things.”) “Can you<\/i> ask him for help finding my slip?<\/p>\n Unbeknownst to me, he wandered over to my computer. “Music,” he said. <\/p>\n “What?”<\/p>\n “Music. It was the first word I saw on your computer screen.” <\/p>\n I thought it was kind of funny that he used “my” method. “Where did you see it?” It isn’t, after all, much of a coincidence if he looked at the email I already had open to that spot. <\/p>\n “Right here,” he said. Apparently someone had clicked on a different tab in the browser, and it was on a different page. Andy had come up with the same word. We kept searching by the clock radio, thinking we must have overlooked it.<\/p>\n