My dad insists we live among angels.  He maintains that angels aren’t confined to otherworldly beings.   Some exist with flesh and blood.  They are imperfect but have one perfect moment in which they are in the right time and right place.  For some, they might have a series of moments.  I’m hoping I’ll have at least one perfect moment in which I can be somebody else’s angel.  That I’ll be in the right place at the right time to help somebody.  As opposed to my habit of wrong time, wrong place.  But that’s a topic for another blog probably dealing with my own psychoanalysis.  Or just a private journal entry.

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