I wondered and wished that the same were true of my American counterpart. For whatever reason, probably somehow grounded on hope, I held off treating myself to the traditional form of release traditional among charter jocks stranded and alone in North Dakota in late November.My recollections of the ensuing hour or so flip by my mind's thumb with no clear order of occurrence. Customs came and went; and the next scene which made it past short-term memory was of Brad (as he had subsequently introduced himself) and me pouring over the computer display from the National Weather Service, and an assortment of low altitude flight charts lying on the adjacent table. Invoking this service by a DUAT terminal in the now deserted flight operations room, Brad and I soon discovered that his trip to Minneapolis and mine to Boston were on indefinite hold for at least twenty-four hours, courtesy of the Alberta Clipper.His passengers - who turned out to be honest-to-goodness Eskimos from the Northwest. Ethel sighed, and I looked down at her to see the lines on her face disappear, and I could see the beauty that must once have been hers. Still was, I suppose.I anointed her and pronounced a formal blessing, whereupon I dried up, with nothing more to say.Ethel looked up at me and smiled. "Thank you, Father. I feel much easier. Thank you so much." Better thank God, Ethel. I have no power of myself." There was a moment I can only describe as a deep communion and I found myself regretting my youth, and that I had not known her as a young woman. I'll say here that I'm an Anglican, not a Roman Catholic, and I have no personal objection to marriage; I just had never met a woman with whom I had a mutual desire to wed. "Ethel, would you like me to call on you during the week? If the prayer helped, I could pray some more." Oh, thank you Father. That would be lovely. I don't like to put you out..." Not at all. It would be a pleasure."She smiled, and I felt my heart lurch; she really was quite.
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