Julie's salvation.

My friend and neighbor. Julie. Was born in Texas. Always thought she was a true blue Minnesotan. But no. She really hails from the most godforsaken state in the nation. Only a few miles from the town that produced George Bush. That ignited a hearty round of razzing last night. While dining. With Julie. And her husband Rick. With Julie’s Alzheimer-riddled father Ron, too. Indeed, supper was a gala and precious event. A wonderful moment in time. The four of us. Seated around the square table. Lobster. Broccoli. Corn on the cob. Garlic bread.  A salad and balsamic dressing. A Moosehead (beer). Strawberry pie. Two lit candles.  A rose. In a quaint vase. But the highlight of it all. The camaraderie. The joking. The joshing. The loosening up. That Julie. Really needs. Day in and day out. A lightening up. Rick and I refused to let up.  Denied Julie opportunities to take herself. Her life. Too seriously. Julie is beginning. To see the funny side.  In all its glory. Yes, time for Julie. To get over the chagrin. Over the bafflement. Of fate. And see that she’s blessed. In so many, many ways. Not the least. Having had a blessed Nanny.  Back there in Texas.  She couldn’t remember her name.  But Rick concocted a story. And a name. Nanny Mammy. Funny. Funny. Funny. Yes, we tell Julie. It’s true. Believe it. As devoutly as a faith-abiding  Christian. Believe in the beautiful.  In the absurdity of life. Believe in  anything that makes you feel good.  And happy. Believe in Nanny Mammy, dear Julie. She might be your salvation. Really. –Jim Broede