If the Fates Allow

“Through the years we all will be together,

If the Fates allow,

Hang a shining star upon the highest bough.

And have yourself a merry little Christmas now  …”

I hadn't thought much about the Fates recently, even though I had sung this song while out caroling a few days earlier. It was a busy day at the office, shorthanded as we were because of vacations. No time to be musing on the incongruity of pagan goddesses making a cameo appearance in a song, albeit a rather secular one, celebrating the birth of Christ.

To the ancients, the Fates were collectively known as the Moirai, the three daughters of the Goddess of Necessity. In physical form, they might have appeared as either alluring maidens or wasted crones, but their roles were consistent. Klotho the Spinner spun threads that represented the elements of our lives. Atropos the Weaver formed those threads into a fabric. Lachesis took the measure of a life, and at the proper moment cut it off with her shears. The Moirai stood in judgment of human fortunes, from which there could be no appeal.

If Klotho had been spinning the threads of Mr. L.'s life, she had been at it for more than eight decades. As he and I talked about his abdominal pain, I could pick up …