Yesterday my aunt, Ellen, and I drove to the St. Ignatius Mission, about 40 miles north of Missoula on the Flathead Indian Reservation. The brick church stands against the backdrop of the Mission Mountains, creating a dramatic picture, but the inside is equally amazing: dozens of murals painted in intense colors by the mission's one-time cook. In the back, a beautiful painting of the Virgin Mary and Christ child as an Indian woman with a papoose. If this place was in Europe, it would be world-famous.
My grandmother, Dora, is doing OK. She's not very happy to be old. She and my grandfather came from humble circumstances--he was a penniless immigrant--built a middle-class life, and raised daughters who went from St. Joseph, Missouri to Bryn Mawr (my mom) and Mills (Ellen), and on to some reasonable facsimile of the American dream. Dora's aspirations for her girls and her own love of reading were critical to making all that happen. She and my grandfather retired to Missoula where Ellen and her husband, Michael, had settled. This morning she told me that she was glad I had come to visit. There wasn't much I could say beyond, "Me, too."
Yesterday's column from the News & Record concerns the hot local issue in Greensboro: where do we build our new baseball stadium?
More good reporting from Matt Croydon on the Cato P2P debate. I hope Matt ends up doing something more useful and lucrative than journalism, but he could do my job tomorrow if he wanted to.