A freighter arrived early yesterday evening, one with superstructure and bridge at the bow, why? Seems odd
My study of ship design would rank after the writing of Nikolay Andreitch with the violent temper whose dissertation topic is the past and future of the dog license. Every morning after coffee he sits out on the balcony with a clean, blank sheet of paper and writes the title at the top before being distracted.
Life seems Good because Blue Bell ice cream returned to grocery store shelves this week.
It’s all good, but our flavor is homemade vanilla because it seems like what perfected a summer day when, as children, we opened the hand cranked ice cream freezer. To my children looking back on midlife, it seems like what we made with sweetened condensed milk the first day of a heavy snow —“snow cream” — a highlight of living in Rhode Island, WashDC, Michigan, Ohio, Pennsylvania.
Midlife was the forties, wasn’t it. Seems so, thirty-nine through forty-eight. At the end of 48 we moved from Pennsylvania home to the Florida panhandle and midlife crisis resolved itself into the 1900 rectory of a lovely old historic small town parish. How small was it? Population 2,500 for a century or more. The preceding ten years was a long midlife crisis and not at all what it seemed as a-whole-nother life opened onto a park overlooking John Gorrie's grave. Double the numbers and it’s called an existential crisis. Why am I here, not why alive or something about when the universe stops expanding, but what if I had taken the road before which Robert Frost long stood then took the other. What if?
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
Eighty is ages and ages thence, the new bridge and the interstate went through decades and decades ago, and the existential crisis is that the Jamestown Ferry and the road not taken no longer exist. Neither does the young officer candidate in the sailor suit.
Jeremiah’s call story this morning. Abraham, Moses, Isaiah, Ezekiel …
Thos+ out of gas somewhere down the road
If my this morning's nonsense seems to make sense, dear reader, perhaps you need to make an appointment and come in for pastoral counseling