Christmas in July, also known as the Feast of St. James, Santiago de Compostela.
It has been one week since visiting a grocery store. While the cupboards at home are not close to being bare, I miss seeing all that food on shelves and walking by huge stocked refrigerators. I miss the hubbub. I dream of celebrating the Feast of St. James with a barbeque; hot dogs, corn on the cob, skewers of roasted vegetables, baked beans, potato salad that's never the same twice in a row.
Jim accuses me of trying to fatten him up for his 50th class reunion so that he'll be unattractive to his classmates when he visits Wisconsin in August.
He has been studying his 8th grade graduation picture, going over the faces with a hand lens.
Yesterday he asked that I call him Big Jim. Today it will be Saint James.
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