For the consideration of rain, and, too, thank you for trees, and too, to have thought of dew on a just-mown lawn under evergreens next to just so-placed midwestern lakes, dolloped blue, and too for sending us the thunder last night, for putting the internet on the ‘fritz’ on one of the last of summer’s eves, everyone of a sudden without their screens, and, by George happy to ‘hang,’ play board games, like the old days — before screens — because You had solved the puzzle of what to do, what to have for dinner – had divined already the idea of dinners — delivered — had made clean-up a snap with Your thought of dishes made of paper — how kind of You to have made life easy. Too, the sheer brilliance of You to have thought ahead into forever, to have filled my car’s gas tank into perpetuity to “full.” Best, yet of all Your inventions, to have created the blessed angel in charge of sound. The air lock one, the closed airplane doors sound, and me, on the inside, by celestial surprise a gift. Me, bumped up to first class, alone, the charming ‘bing-bing-bing,’ the ‘no going back bell chiming’ — a wry touch by You. Oh, You. And me — your ever-humble servant — leaving in minutes on an all expense paid trip won at the grocery checkout. The millioneth customer. My reward from a scratch and sniff game card at Ralph’s as I paid for chicken parts – organic — oh, what delight I had won a trip away for the next few weeks — or more — should You so desire – from all this domestic bliss. That, when and if, You should think to send me back home to ‘chaos central’ from my trip of a lifetime, say, around the world, that You might allow me one teensy weensy request, that I may fit into my jeans — my old Jordache jeans from college – and, that then — when, and if — my dear Lord – upon my return — after Paris, after London, after Carpi — that, going forward you might find me ample parking infinitum mid-Wilshire — at high noon – henceforth, maybe too, please find me someone to file my god-damned taxes forthwith – maybe with a more substantial refund in the mail — a six-digit-sum multiplied by twenty — from the last twenty years – so I may once and for all redo this hovel and that You might see to it that the tree trimmers up the street in the neighbor’s trees for the last six weeks might bust a saw — or two — or, better yet be sent on permanent hiatus for the rest of the year. Signing off for now, so help me God, your friend on earth, me. Amen.