Consecrated Chicken Soup

My BFF's parents are regulars at Casey's brunch in North Bay.

So, with his Dad currently in hospital, his Maman took the brave step of taking herself out for brunch last Sunday.

"Where's Slowpoke," the manager asked when she saw Maman come through the front door. Dad has been slowing down of late, and this has been the subject of a few laughs with the staff.

Once Maman told her about the hospital stay, she was ushered to a well-situated two-seater where, systematically, nearly every waiter in the place took their turn sitting with her for a few minutes at a time. The manager, the manager's son who was home from college, waiters and waitresses from other sections. Each one sat with Maman and had a few words or shared a laugh.

When she was nearing the end of her brunch, the manager came out with a take-out container and said, "Take whatever you'd like off the buffet and bring it to Slowpoke with our best wishes." She then told Maman that everything was on the house.

This is the same manager who gave Maman a box of individual peanut butter servings when my BFF's Dad was going through cancer treatments in Sudbury and was away from home for weeks at a time.

It kills me that there is such goodness in the world. There's more of it then we give the world credit for. We just need to shut up and notice it for a change. And now, a few words from Franny and Zooey to put all this goodness into context.

Jesus knew — knew — that we're carrying the Kingdom of Heaven around with us, inside, where we're all too goddam stupid and sentimental and unimaginative to look? You have to be a son of God to know that kind of stuff.

And finally, for what it's worth:

How in hell are you going to recognize a legitimate holy man when you see one if you don't even know a cup of consecrated chicken soup when it's right in front of your nose?

Eat at Casey's. And pass it on.