Priscilla had just made delicious blueberry cake. In fact, it was her second in one day. The first was scarfed down by friends passing by.

So I asked Jesus who could taste into the second, as well as enjoy some fellowship with us in our living room.

Therefore, as I walked Copper, the German Shepherd at our Windham cottage while daughter and son-in-law vacation in Nova Scotia, I said to Jesus, “If Lance walks across his lawn, I’ll call him over to the fence. Then I’ll invite him and his wife to our cottage for blueberry cake and tea. If no Lance, then not Your plan.”

While Copper and I walked up to Sebago Lake’s edge, taking in those delightful waves in motion in mid-afternoon, I spied Lance walk across his front lawn. That was the sign.

Lance lives out of state, in Connecticut, actually. He and his wife bought this lovely lakeside abode for a million dollars. So obviously when they had free time, they drove from Connecticut to Maine to spruce up their new dwelling, hopefully enjoying some leisurely moments as well.

“Lance,” I called. He cupped his hands over his eyes to shield his vision from the Sunday sun. Slowly he walked toward me. I reminded him that we had met once before, a year ago when he first bought the property. Oh yes, he remembered.

“Am wondering if you and your wife would like to stop in our cottage for some tea sometime this week,” I invited. “We live just over there in that yellow cottage.” He acknowledged that it might work. We continued our chatting.

“We just got in from a trip to Ireland where everybody and his brother asked us into their homes for tea. So I’m in the mode,” I laughed, relating some other detail of our recent sojourn.

Anyhow, it was within minutes that we parted. He disappeared into his home away from home. I walked the dog back to our cozy cottage, secretly wondering what the new alliance was doing with itself. Was there a mold or was the verbal exchange as empty as a tin can? Time would tell.

This morning, one day after, I walked across Lance’s front lawn, approaching his

front entrance as he opened the side door.

“Would you and your wife enjoy a cup of tea sometime today?” I inquired with a smile.

Lance followed with something about it not being a good time, expecting company from out-of-state that day and some other gibber that fell awkwardly to right and left. It was in short order that I got the message that somehow a million dollar dwelling owner and a fellow who hung out in a three-room-with-bath cottage didn’t a match make.

One can fill in the blanks.

I could have informed Lance that my wife and I own an attractive country home with 50 acres in the Canadian Maritimes; but that would have been cheating. So I sidestepped the temptation and let the sweet cottage stand on its own.

Opening up the door of our cottage, Priscilla asked expectantly: “Well, are they coming for tea?”

I explained the downslide of the brief exchange.

As the day progressed, I asked Jesus: “Where do I lay this blueberry cake?”

It sat there on our kitchen counter waiting for some hungry body to take it in. And I was more than willing to share the treasure. Priscilla has to be the most fabulous baker in the country. I have often told her that. And it is really true.

The day wore on. Sun left us for rain and gloomy skies. Evening slipped through. I couched up with a book, Copper reclining obediently at my feet. Priscilla was on the phone with a lady friend.

Then I got up, looked out the kitchen window to spy a young fellow. Who is he? When did he move into that tiny, one-room cottage across the road?

In an instant Jesus answered my query.

“Come on, Copper.” Copper is always more than willing to get out, so the two of us walked across the wet grass, soon knocking on the teen’s rickety screen door.

“Hi. I’m your neighbor. I live there in that cottage over there. See the lights? My wife made this and I thought you might like to have it this evening. By the way, my name’s Grant. What’s yours?”

“Luke.”

I handed a smiling teen face a plate with paper napkin, atop it a large blueberry cake cut-out.

As Copper and I returned to the cottage I looked up through the foreboding clouds to thank Jesus for answering my request. He could not have done better.

By the way, as the week progressed, I never spied any autos other than his own in front of Lance’s million dollar pad. Interesting, isn’t it?