The Prodigal Returns from Her Adventures

For this auspicious day, I had a devilishly good Caesar salad. I used romaine hearts and added dandelion greens. Yummers.

I spent the weekend in California, visiting my family. It was a surprise visit; Mtr. Mother didn't know I was coming and Sr. Sister managed to keep it a secret even though she's currently living with the Parent Parents.

It was a good party, 'good party' being defined as I didn't get so drunk I don't remember much of the event, no one got bit by a rattlesnake, and my sunburn faded after a day or so. But being around my family, especially after a long absence, brings forth some ugly things about my personality, things that I thought I'd been working on but went right smack back to doing as soon as I was immersed in that environment. So, if I threaten to kick you or insult you in the next week or so, that's actually a sign of affection.

Yes, I know I'm messed up in the head. And knowing is half the battle.

I also felt rather alone at certain parts of the Adventure, especially when I was alone with Sr. Sister and my cousins. I've always said we had nothing in common, and when they talk for hours about hook ups and "That time I was drunk with ---" I just really have nothing to add to the conversation. I'm not saying I'm a saint, I just don't do that kind of thing. When I woke up in my cousin's leather armchair, in the clothes I'd been wearing for 36 hours straight, my second thought was, "Dude, I'm getting too old for this."

My third thought was, "That's sad, I'm only twenty-six years old."

My first thought was, "Why is Sr. Sister's butt singing 'Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go' at six a.m. in the morning?"


As things usually do when I'm thinking about them, my thoughts turned back to How To Reach This Lost Generation. Maybe we could get Michelle Rodriguez to do some television commercials "Join the Church, Get A Cookie!"

Now, see, here's the problem with being a historian. I know for a fact that getting young people to church is not a new issue. St. Augustine of Hippo, heard of him? He turned out all right, after a lot of prayers from his momma. I really wonder what would happen if we stopped worrying about focus groups and activities and such and started praying by name for those young people who grew up in church and stopped attending, pray by name for our family members whose lives seem out of control and dangerous, pray by name for the neighborhood kids.

It seems like any more, all I can do is wonder and pray.