Mom’s lunch go-to television program is NCIS: Naval Criminal Investigation Service.  She owns many years of the 19-year series on DVD.  I, on the other hand, cannot watch.  By the nature of the show, it always boasts a dead body, and often a horrific one.  Perhaps I am naturally squeamish, and I abhor horror.  As a young man of 19, I served a two-year proselyting mission for my church in Portugal, as is the custom for young people in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.  Toward the end of my service, working in Lisbon, a young man completed his own mission and was touring Lisbon with his parents.  While sightseeing together, his father had a heart attack and died.  As my mission president consoled and counseled with the grieving mother and son, I drove to the airport with a wallet-sized photo of the father.  My mission that day was not to preach the Good News of Christ but to identify the dead.  The dead man lay in a lead box, in a state of imperfect preservation that required close scrutiny to match him with his photograph.  I half expected his eyes to pop open like in a horror movie, and shivered as I peered.  Ridiculous, I know, but real.  So, I simply cannot get cozy with the dead, and scamper to my room at the opening music of NCIS.  But Mom enjoys the mystery, suspense, and jostling tough characters, and I’m glad she has a show she enjoys.