Tonight, while we completed the last frantic preparations for my brother's departure for the OCS, stuffing all his regulation gear into his sea bag, we realized that we lost... his watch. It was a 20 dollar affair, not too expensive. Its chief charm, according to my mother, was that the adjustable strap was velcro and thereby less onerous to would-be officers on ten mile runs.
We tore apart the kitchen, where the fugitive time piece was reportedly sighted last. Drawers, counter tops, the dishwasher and even... the trash (!) were searched multiple times, to no avail, but accompanied by much gnashing of teeth.
A strong devotion to St. Anthony, patron of those with lost articles, runs high and heavy through my mother's family (it's all her side, as my father comes from Proddy stock). The brother who is leaving for OCS was actually baptized after him in St. Patrick's Cathedral. As the desperate nature of the situation became apparent, great wails immediately rose to Heaven: "Oh, St. Anthony! Please help us find the watch!"
Usually Anthony starts praying for us right away, but on this occasion he seems to have taken his own sweet time. Just when we were ready to give up, the watch turned up - not even on the floor where we were looking, but upstairs, on my other brother's nightstand.
What can I say? He never fails. Thanks for the prayers, St. Anthony!
Saturday, July 07, 2007
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