Father Hart stops by for a blessing of the agency

There I was, head down, elbows up, doing my job when I looked up and there before me was Father Hart of Chicago. The man of the cloth was in town to clean out his mother's basement. He was putting all manner of ancient bicycles out on the curb. But he had enough time to stop by here and inform me that the blog was not up to snuff, and lately, there had been typos a plenty.

Sure, sure. The man of the cloth has no good news for the holidays, which is entirely unacceptable. We were hoping for a big day with big news and the big ring. No such luck. He's pleading economic uncertainty. I pledged him a slightly used men's gold wedding band, free of charge. He didn't bite. 

He's freelancing plenty and putting his acorns in the tree for the winter. Hart worked every day in October except for one. Ad agencies aren't allowed to hire people, but the work isn't going away, so they hire the good Father freelance.

The nerve of turning his back on his people is still raw, and he makes no bones about the treason. But he's not coming back which is a sin for which there is no forgiveness.