St Anthony

St Anthony, St Anthony, Please come down
Something's lost and can't be found

Something's lost and can't be found
St Anthony, St Anthony, please come around.

I am not Catholic. My grandmother (Oh Dahling, just a little more cream) was, but somehow she never managed to come up with the St Anthony prayer in our family history. Probably because she was raised Southern Baptist and found Catholicism late in life.

But Eva was. We were working in Spokane, she was my boss, and in the process of digging out at least half a dozen road cuts, I lost some very expensive bifocals. Back in the office she told me about St Anthony, the patron saint of lost things. We called on St Anthony, and next day went back to each pit, and found my glasses in the dirt at the bottom of one of them. Buried. Invisible. I became a believer.

That was back in 1998 or so, and I have used the St Anthony prayer several times. Most famous of those stories was in 2007 when he was instrumental in finding my cat lost in a Texas RV park. Recently the St Anthony prayer was invoked at a Home Depot in Klamath Falls, where Mo lost her wallet filled with military ID and lots of cash and credit cards. Within minutes of the prayer, as we stood around wondering what to do, two men drove up and asked what we were doing, and when we said looking for a lost wallet, they produced it. Twenty bucks is what I promised that time. I always promise, although a web site recently said you can't bargain with St Anthony, but you should at least show some kind of thanks.

Yosemite. I had a professional meeting there this week, with about 75 people from the Professional Soil Scientists Association of California. First day was great. A big tour bus, lots of really good discussions, capped by pizza and beer at the Curry Village where we were staying. Some of us in cabins, others like me in tent cabins, basically canvas walls with plywood floors. A bed, an old dresser, very close neighbors (several people kept awake by snoring), no bathroom. Where does St Anthony come in here?

I came home from beers, crawled into my bed and as is sometimes the case, took out my somewhat uncomfortable denture. A special pleasure of sleeping alone. I woke at 430, to pack and go to the showers, and could NOT find the denture. I spent two hours combing my tent cabin, the seams in the canvas, the bedding, the walls, my personal stuff, on and on. Finally at 630 I gave up. I loaded everything into my truck, and made some excuse about a broken denture to my boss and decided to go home. (broken was bad enough, but I couldn't bring myself to renege on the second day of the field trip due to a LOST denture???) Good god. I even took photos of every single corner in the cabin in frustration. I could not understand how a stupid denture could leave the cabin when I hadn't. I did the St Anthony prayer many times, but thought, well maybe this time it isn't going to work. I drove the 100 miles or so back to my home in Jamestown, went through all my stuff again, and finally called Camp Curry. Within minutes they called me back, some housekeeping person had found my denture. "Where??" "We don't really know, he doesn't speak english."

Needless to say, I drove the 100 miles each way back to Yosemite, wondering at the whole incredibly stupid thing, and thanking St Anthony. All sorts of symbolism came in, because throughout my life, loosing teeth has been a recurring dream, a fairly common one for humanity I hear. It's about change and fear of change and transitions and such. I had lost my teeth for real! In dreams it is a sickening feeling, as you realize your teeth are crumbling in your mouth. In real life, it was equally sickening. I actually thought a couple of times maybe I WAS dreaming, maybe I would wake up. I do love how real life symbolism can often mirror our unconscious thoughts and issues, and this was a big one. Change, Transition, Fear of Change Coming, Moving into another Stage of Life. ahh. magic. magic is everywhere. I keep forgetting that.

So I had promised 50 bucks. Same promise I made for the cat. The rule is, if at all possible, you should give anonymously, so there isn't any personal glory from the giving. I thought about giving it to a friend in need, but then realized that wasn't really the way to do it. Then Mo and I together thought about the homeless camp. So this morning I took three old vests, put 20 bucks in the pocket of each one, (an extra 10 bucks for extra thanks!) and walked up to the camp, just a few hundred yards across the highway from where I live. There are several tents there, and some people were sleeping. Finally I found a couple of women sitting and talking quietly in their tent and asked if they wanted the vests. I didn't want to hurt their pride entirely by just handing them money, but the pastel polyester vests were in the goodwill box for a reason. They were pretty weird. I said, "well, maybe you could find someone who might want them, and maybe check the pockets." I walked away out of sight before they had time to look in the pockets. It was almost as much fun as handing the young tattered father in a beat up car the 20 dollar bill I gave him for the last St Anthony find. Finding creative ways to pass out money directly is really kind of fun. Thank you, St Anthony.