And the Beat Goes On, Boston Style

Our meeting started at seven this morning as it does, six mornings a week. Our trusted servant asked us to keep the Boston headliners in our thoughts as we shared a moment of silence.  I hadn't heard anything about it. His son read the preamble in his clear elementary school diction, a little hesitation over some of the lengthier words. A smile from most of us at his sweet voice.

There is promise in our children. I am old enough to be the mother of the fleeing suspect or of the slain officer. I feel for the responsibility of our public servants and I appreciate them. We rest in each others arms.

My food did not come from my garden and I did not build my house. I give thanks for those who have gone ahead of me, clearing land, putting a stone wall together in just the right spot. There are those who watch over me and are there to catch me as I fall.

Today I make a dish from someone else's recipe. It involves lamb shanks. My first ever purchase of  such a thing, me the vegetarian of yore. I shyly peek at the bones in my shopping cart and looking away, repeating the credo, do new things.

At home again, I turn on the TV and deduce that we are back in the waiting game. I hear things like 'they came here to kill' and that 'they' have been here since 2001. The shanks on my table remind me of runners legs. Killers now on the run.

I pray again.