MARYHOUSE, SWEET SANCTUARY
I was sorting my pre-Christmas mail over the garbage can.
One to glance and dump,
two current bills to pay,
and a Partridge in a Pear Tree.
Well, it could not have been more surprising than P. in a P.T.
At first I thought it was a donation request. A poignant drawing of homeless women and children finding their way to Maryhouse in North Sacramento, a blighted section of town where I lived until I was nine.
I put the card on my kitchen counter, then was drawn back to look at it again. Over and over again. There it was:
A DONATION HAS BEEN MADE IN YOUR NAME TO MARYHOUSE.
Mark Twain said he could live on one compliment for a month. I am so pleased and grateful that I will keep this gift in a little corner of my heart for the rest of my life.
My cup runneth over.