For too long I’ve used this space to complain about lost articles. (clothing, cell phones, and the like; not newspaper articles.)
So when a resident of Peachtree City’s Fisher’s Luck neighborhood called and said she had our Bible, we celebrated that for once the lost had become found.
I asked her if it was mine or my husband’s, and she said she couldn’t tell. I thought that was curious because Dave and I both have the same Good News editions, and I knew they were signed by each other.
We golf-carted over to “Mrs. Fisher’s” house (forgive me for not being sure of their name) and realized that Dave’s copy had only DSatterthwaite inscribed in the front, and of course that doesn’t indicate gender. The “Fishers” had noticed the book on the curb near their home. No doubt someone else had seen it in the street and put it on the curb for visibility and a chance of staying dry if it rained.
And we had not even known that the Scriptures were missing.
It doesn’t take much thinking to figure out how the little book got there. We had attended a bi-monthly church study group in the next cul-de-sac on the preceding Monday, and no doubt when Dave was helping me into the car, he laid the book on the hood and drove away without remembering it.
If you need a miracle in this story, let it be that for all the storms and rain we’ve had the past few weeks, it did not rain a drop on Skiff Trace or Harbor Loop between Monday and Thursday when Mr. “Fisher,” walking his dogs, rescued the Good Book.
That night, we were pummeled by thunderstorms and copious rain.
***
Maybe you recall my describing the back of our home as a sun room or a greenhouse. At 15 feet long by 10 feet deep, it holds our dining table, the gas-log fireplace and a baker’s rack – snug, but it appears to be open to the outdoors and allows us to feel as though we are eating breakfast in the trees.
We dearly love these great panels of glass plus the slanted panes that form the roof over the table. Or we used to love them.
One by one, some area of this acre of tempered double glass began to fog, causing, at first, clouds that looked like the glass was just dirty and scrubbing would take them away.
Wrong. From those little annoying patches of fog, the clouds spread, and now a couple are totally opaque.
And the glass repair guys are saying we’re lucky to have had them clear for more than five years. They were installed when the house was built, in 1984.
Twenty-eight years ago.
We replaced the worst ones, a French door in the kitchen and the window in my office, last summer, and finally decided to do the two next really big offenders – a large and a narrow one – of the vertical glass panels beside the table. For over $800. Our house is so pretty because of that view, but $800 worth of pretty? And still more to do.
The 5X8 center panel in the middle of the roof was priced out at over $1,900. It will have to stay that way. I’m not complaining (well, yeah, I guess I am), but just warning you to ask a lot of questions before ordering large panes of glass. If they had offered insurance on them, I would probably have declined, but I don’t believe you can get insurance for them that will cover more than five years, even today.
***
An interesting wedding announcement appeared in the AJC some weeks back for nuptials which occurred in Highlands, N.C. last fall.
The bride was Alice Green, and her new husband was William Brown. The bride’s parents were both Green and her matrons of honor included sisters of the bride, both Green before their marriages, and the groom’s sister, who was still Brown, was a maid of honor.
The groom’s father, a Brown, was the groom’s best man, and another Brown was the groom’s brother.
“Children attendants” were – well, hello! What have we here? A White – no, two Whites, and a Green who married a White, and a White usher.
I wish them all the best, truly I do, but right now pass me that cold cloth to put over my eyes.
