Friends,
I lied to a nun.
I was asked to lie and I went along with the lie. My pal Bruce, the schnoodle entrusted to my care by those caring for a beloved centenarian, was killed on my watch but I couldn’t bring myself to share that news. I danced around the issue at the Idyllwild Indivisible rally where we spoke. Protest rallies are a thing now that the country is descending into authoritarian rule. We meet and we chat and we wonder how to best use our voices to help those who can’t defend themselves. We hugged and she asked me how he was doing. Why was one dog here but not our little boy.
“We had to leave him at home.”
The nuns are lovely and I just can’t break their hearts. They know loss, but do they need more loss? More grief?
We’ve got work to do. We’ve got marching to do, and letter writing to do, and we’re not going to stop the kneecapping of our institutions by crying. We’ve got work to do.
And for that, I lied to a nun. I spent hours working on her computer for free later that day to try and atone, but it still feels wrong. I spared her feelings, but she deserved to know.
Your pal,
– bob