Thanksgiving

Sore will be coming over for Thanksgiving. It is my turn to cook for everyone. First I will read the newspaper this morning. Need my cup of coffee, will take the dogs for a walk - then the pototoes. I really don't like turkey smell in the house. That comes last. The office is closed tomorrow. Hooray. I work for Mr. Thistlewhite. He is nice enough. We have a business relationship. His predecessor Mr. Lang had hired me just before he left. Most of the suggestions Mr. Lang had for my position, which was new, fell by the wayside once Mr. Thistlewhite arrived. I did not mind since my sister Happy needed all my attention. Her husband died this year. We talked in the office yesterday about the "Dear Amy" letter. A young girl having a relationship with a Catholic priest. I see problems on both sides. Lots of women throwing themselves at the priest and the priest falling for these emotionally needy, pious little dingbats. Watch out for the spiritual menage a trois. They are alive and well and everyone involved says: I don't sin. I don't think going to the the bishop helps. The bishops side with the priest. A few Diocesan priests are protected little criminals. The attitude seems to be 'we rather have a sick priest than no priest at all.' Sick priests make for sick parishioners. The Catholic hierachy does not get it. It's the Gospel for the little people.