This morning, my head was still full of wool, and I wasn't functioning at my usual afternoon level of operatic grandiosity, when two Jehovah Witnesses came calling.
"Is Rita here? No? Well we would like to share some scripture, from I Peter 5:6-7:
'Humble yourselves therefore under the mighty hand of God, that he may exalt you in due time:
Casting all your care upon him; for he careth that for you.'
Meanwhile, I careth more about the well-dressed, pony-tailed little eight-year-old girl with them. She was jumping from porch step to porch step, and I was afraid she'd stumble and fall. Since the house sits above the street, and features a walk-in basement, and thus there are many steps to reach the front door, an impressionable 8-year-old might think she had already climbed halfway to Heaven.
"She just LOVES the steps," her mother explained. I mentioned the basement, and she continued, "We're from Oklahoma, and a basement like that would be of great comfort in a tornado." The meteorologist in me thought: 'No, this Sacramento 'basement' is entirely above ground, so even a flimsy little F1 tornado would turn this place into matchsticks. Statistically, we probably get one of those storms here every thousand years.' Then the girl knocked on the wall of the house and said, "Mama, we have to move into this neighborhood!"
So, I collected my Awake and Watchtower, and never learned who Rita is.
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