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My hands smell like cinnamon hazelnut coffee.  I thought I’d share that.

Some of you may recall me mentioning that my doctor rocks my socks off.  It seems that he likes me too.  Half the time when I go up to the student health center, all I really need is to get my weight and blood pressure checked and pick up a prescription.  For that you usually just see a nurse.  However, my doctor likes to talk theology and writing with me, so he changes the schedule so I see him pretty much every time.

Yesterday when I went to pick up my prescription he had gifts: samples of the asthma drug I take, and a manuscript box containing a copy of his unpublished book.  He’d told me about it before, and shown bits of it to me on the computer.  It’s sort of a supernatural thriller, about a Marine grunt from Kentucky who gets killed in Vietnam, and, totally to his nominal Baptist surprise, ends up on “the porch,” – in Purgatory.  In order to make it into heaven a little faster, he’s given the assignment of helping his boyhood friend back on earth find his way to salvation.  It’s really an amazing story.  I started reading it sitting out in the sun on the wall outside the Student Health Center in the gap time before my next appointment, and finished it as soon as I got home.  It made me laugh so many times.  I couldn’t stop reading until I got to the last page.  When I was done I had tears in my eyes.  It’s not perfect – I’ll have some suggestions to make when we talk about it over Christmas break – but, man, that doc can write!

In other news, my baby brother had his last Freshman football game on Tuesday.  I cut class so I could go.  It’s funny – I’m not much of a one for school spirit, even though they were playing our old archrivals.  In my planner I had the event listed as Boy-o vs. Altar.  My baby brother is growing up.  He’s so tall, and he’s developing quite a pair of shoulders.  He doesn’t look like a little boy anymore.  Sigh.  I must mention, however, that it was incredibly cold.  After the game I headed over to Panera to hang out before Women’s Group.  It took a bowl of black bean soup, a mug of hot tea, and twenty minutes sitting right in front of the fire before I started feeling really warm again.

Also, I’m letting the world know that I’m going swing dancing on the Saturday after Thanksgiving, all day.  And I don’t care what else you schedule or want to do, I’m not going to be available.  I’m going to be swing dancing.  The only exception is a death in the family.  My immediate family.  Of blood relatives.  (‘SupDoc: “But what if I die, and that’s the day of the funeral?” Me: “I’ll pray for you while I’m dancing.”)  You have been notified.

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