Two days ago was Halloween, and I greeted the trick-or-treaters in the "Conehead" mask I found at the Salvation Army the last time I was home. It was the one with the big ears. I didn’t stop to think that the trick-or-treaters were far too young to know what a Conehead was. The only comment I received was from a little girl who asked, "Why aren’t you wearing the rest of your monkey suit?"

I can honestly say that turning 40 a few months ago didn’t faze me in the least, despite the little reminders—like on Halloween—that there do exist people in this world (however sad a realization it may be) who are much, much younger than I am. I try to convince myself that they are just small 50-year-olds, and that relatively speaking, 40 just barely follows puberty. But you can’t hide from age. And when it comes down to it, if you are alive to utter your age, then the number is inconsequential. To live is the thing. At least that’s what I tell myself when watching "SpongeBob SquarePants."

As always, I miss the mountains of Colorado and the little mountain cabin in which I used to live in Sedalia. But Kansas has its own rewards, such as the sea of wheat or corn you find if you travel for more than 20 minutes in any direction. It actually does give you a feeling similar to looking out over an ocean. But I’ve found that if you suddenly see a team of dolphins leaping up out of the wheat in a synchronized ballet, you’ve been driving way too long and should pull over. I learned that the hard way.

To answer your question Mom, I still go to the Spanish Mass at the cathedral. You can read the scripture in English, and I can understand some of the Spanish homily. I always get a kick out of the children seated nearby. When they see me, they can’t help but stare for a moment. Just today one looked at me and shyly asked, "¿Por qué usted no está usando el resto de su juego del mono?" which, roughly translated means, "Why aren’t you wearing the rest of your monkey suit?" You think maybe I need a shave?

During the Lord’s prayer, the woman I love was on my right, and a woman I didn’t know on my left. While holding their hands, I realized that if we were to have all our senses removed except "touch," you could never tell another person’s race simply by holding their hand. Which is another reason why racists are idiots.

After Mass we prayed in the Our Lady of Guadalupe chapel where a young woman sat quietly sobbing. Everyone you meet is carrying burdens. It’s important to always remember that.

Dad, the house is slowly coming along. I wish you were here to lend a hand and offer advice, especially since I broke the cardinal rule about starting more than one project at a time. I currently have three major renovation projects going, which has left my interior looking like Sanford & Sons’ front yard, and me looking like Redd Foxx when he was getting ready to join Elizabeth.

Speaking of the yard, I’ve pretty much given up on mine. As if it wasn’t bad before, Sam has dug several holes the size of the Meteor Crater in Arizona. The other day I heard a really faint voice coming from deep in one of the holes shouting, "Get out of my kidney bean patch!" in Mandarin.

My job is going well. As you know, they’ve made me the official "web guy" for the diocese, which a couple of years ago I would have thought impossible. I did have trouble at first, as every time you’d go to www.dcdiocese.org you’d immediately be redirected to the official site for the old "Kung Fu" TV show. Oddly enough, it seemed to make perfect sense as a diocesan web site, except that nobody understood why the bishop kept referring to members of his flock as "Grasshoppers."

With all the good news—amid the pleasant embrace of home: love, warmth, good health and friendship—tragedy has visited. I know of a woman who was suffering depression and who took her life and that of her daughter on Oct. 29. This kind of news is not only deeply saddening, but it tears at the fibers of common sense. We yearn to know why, and when we’re given an answer, we can only ask why once again. So there are prayers needed—and not only for them and their family, but for all those poor people dying in Iraq.

In the face of crisis we look for the hand of God. Always there, we only need embrace it.

See you at Thanksgiving …

Love, Dave