Here we go

How a man of my standing finds himself in this predicament, only the Good Lord knows. What is my predicament, the reader may ask?  It is thus. I stepped into the open arms of Our Lord and Savior on the morning of January 6th, 1919, and our Lord and Savior, in His infinite wisdom, plonked me down in a wood in Massachusetts and told me to stay there until I had learned some humility. Staying there I have been, for over a century now, assigned variously to those who in-dwell these parts - some Basque woodcutters, a lawyer hiding from the Italian mob, a very sweet couple of men whose love was forbidden,  a mysterious individual with messy hair who smoked some sort of herb and proclaimed the world to be 'groovy', a rather fetching young woman with a temper and unnerving aim with a shotgun, and most recently, a tall Englishwoman who appears to ride a motorcycle and whose hair is an improbable shade of purple. I have come to consider them my colleagues.

The odd thing is, whilst I appear to live alongside these interesting specimens, sharing their every moment, their fears, dreams, hopes and disappointments, they are blissfully, incomprehensibly oblivious to my presence. It is as if, to them, I do not exist. All I can imagine that is that Our Lord and Savior, in His infinite wisdom, decided that few decades of invisibility and proximity to the ordinary man (and woman) would bring me to that point of self-abnegation whereby He would clasp me to his bosom, and then He somehow forgot me. It has been quite a century, and He has has had other matters to attend to. He may be Infallible, but He is also very busy, and I am a patient President.