Old people just like to tell stories...


Okay - I promise - this is my last New Years Eve post - yes, Michael, I'll be more serious after this one.
Picture New Year's Eve 1967, I'm at home in my apartment at Fair Oaks, across from the Minneapolis Museum of Fine Arts, sitting on the sofa, sipping a scotch and soda, reading "Rosemary's Baby" - terrified.
Yes, the book was scary, yet years earlier, when we were playing with the Ouija Board in Larry's basement, I asked the question, "When will I die?" (I always ask that.)
The thing moved to "6" and then to "7". I was convinced it meant I would die sometime by the end of the year 1967. Having survived the year that far, I was waiting on New Year's Eve to see if I would die, while reading "Rosemary's Baby". One minute after midnight I said to my roommate David, "Well, I didn't die." And I finished my book. (Obviously, this was a couple of years before my conversion.)
Isn't that a cute story?
Anyway, it could be this year! In June; it's the 6th month in the year '07 - 6/07, or it could be when I'm 67 years old...but I'm not superstitious any longer. Anyway, how would the devil even know this stuff? (After all, he's the one behind Ouija Boards and all of that junk. And he lies. Right? ...Fr. Altier!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)
Happy New Year and good night, ladies and gentlemen! I'm going to bed.
Michael, I promise I'll be better about posting after this. (He's so strict!)

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