I saw a portrait of Lenny Bruce in my bowl of Wheatena

I don't want to get all Number, or Neighbor, of the Beast on you. Let's face it: it's been a long summer and it's been a rough year. As we head towards the fall, things, as one of my sisters, Jill, so aptly (if inelegantly) phrased it decades ago, 'are going to get stupider and stupider.'

Jill, who is a triumph of adult multi-tasking with a loving family of her own, is my youngest sister and was deeply and darkly mysterious as a small, think four year old, child who stared up and out at the world through eyes that took the measure of everyone she saw. No matter what the shopping expedition, or where, Jill carried a small brown paper bag. She called it her 'goodie bag'.

It was not unusual, when getting everyone back in the car (my father drove those enormously long station wagons, the kind that looked like you could land a chopper on the roof, if you could balance it on the roof rack while the rotors turned) and seat-belted up, to open the goodie bag and find an assortment of merchandise, from lipstick through needle-nose pliers to jewelry--all of which had two things in common: they were all in the bag and no one had paid for them. One of us always had to go back into the store with the items and apologize-and no one ever, I recall, asked how it happened. I can recall Jill glaring at me with barely-contained fury when I'd get back to the car since I was the oldest and giving things back was part of my job.

And here we are now, in the greatest country on earth at our highest point of evolution in the history of our species and we've got more than just 'got it all' we've got two hands to take as much as we want and pockets to put it all in. The housing market is, by all accounts, volatile as are the finances some of us are hoping to use to bail it out and money seems to disappear faster than ever through every crack in our lives. We're entering Charlie Manson territory where no sense makes sense and we're looking for signs and wonders and seeing them even if they're not really there.

How else to explain the Chessus Christ sighting the other day in a bag of Cheetos? In fairness, if one of us had pulled the snack out of the bag, we'd have popped it into our mouths without a second thought. I'm seeing a short movie, where, later that same snack, I'm walking out to the kitchen to get some dip (for Cheetos? Hey! Who are you Judd Apatow? Make your own movie and leave me alone) when I'm struck down by a bright light and a loud voice demanding "Saul, why doth thou persecute me!?!" (with the 'doth' and the 'thou' why doesn't the Voice say persecuth me? Just curious) and I have to explain that Saul and Bernice Levandowski live down the street, on the other side, where the Corolla is parked. 'Oh,' says the Voice and the light is gone.

I've looked at the picture of the Cheetos and, yeah, now that I've read the story, I can how someone who wanted to see something, would. Sort of like the half-eaten grilled cheese sandwich that looked like Abraham Lincoln or that water stain on the wall in some third-world nation that looked like the Virgin Mary crying. I once saw the Battle of the Somme in a plate of Rice-A-Roni, the San Francisco treat, until someone added two pats of butter.

And we have a month plus of summer yet to go and then the fall, the general election and the winter. Phew--could be a good time to stock up on goodie bags.
The Lord moves in strange and mysterious ways His wonders to perform and the Pringles people are hoping it's their turn real soon.
-bill kenny