stop praying

"Stop praying for me.  Freaks me the fuck out."

These were the rarest of words for French to say to Rose.  His harsh tone revealed how he felt.  Rose had told him that she'd been praying for him to get a new job.  Within a week after saying this to him he'd gotten three different job offers.  This spooked him to be sure, and he'd actually not followed up on any of them; even though he hated his current position. 

French had avoided Rose for well over a month, but he showed up tonight for Sunday Dinner (a standing offer).  After dinner he said: "Sorry Rose.  You can go back to praying for me.  Just nothing specific okay?"  Rose smiled and nodded to French, and poured him a small glass of Bowmore.

10 year plan

French's grandfather, Smitty, got snowed in last weekend.  A shear pin broke on his snow blower.  We pulled it out and the three of us changed the oil, replaced the pin and the spark plug as well.  Smitty fired it up and plowed out his double wide driveway while we shovelled his frontlane and porch.

Afterwards he brewed us up some strong coffee with a solid dash of Canadian rye.  Smitty started talking about his 10 year plan: new perennials, staining his deck, new roof on his shed, and some new outdoor lighting for starters.  Smitty also wanted to "get back over to Dublin at some point".   He had a Lonely Planet: Ireland travel guide on his kitchen table.

Smitty, more or less, shooed us out after our coffee was done.  He said: "Thanks lads.  I'm off to bowling. Gonna beat that goddamned Scotty Macfarlane today".

I asked French how old Smitty was.  French said "bout 96...give or take".