That was the year the church roof leaked and they used the extra space for a bake sale too. The tables were set up right there on the gravel. The smell of cinnamon rolls drifted over to our house and Frank went over to buy two.

“Best deal in town,” he said when he came back with the box. “And the money goes to a good cause.”

Those are the days I think about when I look at the papers now. The good days before the new plans and the survey.

The pastor means well, I know that. He just doesn’t know the history the way I do. He didn’t see Frank out there directing cars or hear the stories from the old pastor about how the lot helped the church grow.

That line has been in my head since Tuesday night and I don’t see it going anywhere soon.