Coincidence

Greetings fellow human beings. Herewith please find Friday Letter #77. Enjoy.

Coincidence?

How did we find St. Mary's Roman Catholic Church in St. Benedict, Kansas?

That was the most frequently asked question after last week's Letter. But the answer remains mysterious: We don't really know.

We never throw anything away. We've searched the old road atlas collection, and the stack of official Kansas road maps and promotional brochures. Not there in the file.

All I know is, whenever I was doing map dreaming before our Thanksgiving trip, I kept looking at the little farm town of St. Benedict, which is six miles north of U.S. Highway 36 between Seneca and Baileyville.

It may be simple. Perhaps I was looking for places named "St. Benedict" after our new Pope.

But what a find! People think we're referencing the Cathedral of the Plains at Victoria, Kansas. As grand as it is, St. Mary's is relatively unknown. One map dream we're having now is a motorcycle trip over there next summer.

Finding that church turned an enjoyable vacation into a gratifying pilgrimage, and we're thankful for it. If you have had a similar experience, or know of a similar out-of-the-way church, please let us know, here on e-mail or on the blog.

Pilgrimage anyone?

Financial expert

No, I'm not a financial expert. But I think I've got something figured out.

I kept asking the question, "Where did the federal government get 700 billion dollars to give to the banks that the Democrats got in trouble?"

And the answer is (drum roll): They printed it. That's right. They just printed more money. Sound familiar?

It's a common but never successful scheme all over the world. If we don't have enough money, we'll just print more. I've read about this method of artificial inflation for just about all of my life.

You can probably remember newspaper photos of people carrying printed currency in wheelbarrows to go buy a loaf of bread. Italy. Spain. All over South America.

Accuse me of being simplistic if you will. This isn't going to work. Sorry if that frightens you. It just isn't going to work.

The gold standard, or its alternative the silver standard, are long gone. Decades gone. No longer do we have precious metals backing our currency. All bets are off, so to speak.

Jay Leno used to say we should eat all the Fritos we want because "We'll just make more." Little did he know he was such a prophet.

We went from "instant karma" in the 60's to "payback is a bitch" in the 70's. Now that we have the bailout mentality, perhaps this is best named "The Gift Certificate Economy." It ain't a gonna work. Hold on to your seats.

Jigsaw puzzle puzzle

Sometime in the early years after World War Two my Gramma Randleman came to our house with a gigantic jigsaw puzzle titled "Battle in Germany."

It had hundreds of pieces. It was a dark scene involving a Jeep, a hand grenade, an explosion, black smoke, and khaki and tan camouflage colors.

It required many weeks of effort to find the correct places for all the little pieces. Weeks. Maybe months. The puzzle was, even for your run-of-the-mill jigsaw puzzle, extremely difficult.

My brother helped, and my Mom too. Finally we had it all together on Mom's coffee table, and I got excited. I thought we would glue our finished puzzle to a piece of cardboard and hang it in our bedroom.

Eventually Gramma came down from Greeley and saw our work. She expressed pleasure and pride at what we had done.

Then she found the box the puzzle had come in, held it at the edge of the coffee table, and scooped the whole puzzle in. Then she carefully went through the pieces in the box, making sure not one was fitted into any other.

"Start over," she said. We declined.

That was the only jigsaw puzzle party in which I was ever a participant. Once in a lifetime experience.

The new carpet

I was a punk kid, 17. I was dating the extremely beautiful Georgianne Berger, the eldest of three equally beautiful Berger sisters. (And one rather nondescript brother.)

After borrowing my parents' hot '59 Oldsmobile, I went to the Berger home to liberate my date.

The Bergers weren't well off, but they had just had new carpet installed in their living and dining rooms in the little house on Second Street in Brighton.

The young lady took some extra time to get ready, so I sat in the living room visiting with her dad, George Berger, an affable and gentle soul.

What a he-man I was. George and I lit cigarettes together. Boy was I a big shot.

Soon, I smelled something funny. Looking down, I discovered that the fire had fallen from my cigarette.

A smoky, stinky brown hole was growing bigger and bigger in the beige carpet between my feet.

George said, "Stand up, Tom." I did. He came over and put out the flames with his shoe. Then he moved the chair in which I had been sitting, positioning one leg in the hole my carelessness had made.

"Sit down, Tom," said George. I did. Brand new carpet. Installation had just been completed that day.

To this day, I cover my face when I go past that little house. Ahh, how suave and debonair I was. Manly. Bristling with testosterone.

And I had the manners of a Tasmanian Devil.

Dating

What happened to "dating?" I mean the process by which men and women used to find husbands and wives.

Dating has ceased to exist. It's more like "sampling." No wonder marriages don't last.

Word of the week: Diatribe. It's from the Latin, diatriba, which meant "a learned discussion," and the Greek "diatribe'," a wearing away or waste of time. Today, we think it means a bitter, abusive criticism or denunciation.

Next week's word: Effrontery.

Gripes? Complaints? Whines? or Comments? Adoration? Puppy love? Reciprocal rant? Feel free to express yourself in the comments below!