65F, 94% and Linda says we’re supposed to have rain tonight. Surely is a nice evening though. Daughter, daughter/granddaughter, grandson, Britany, and great-granddaughter just left. The little gal sure is growing fast, even seems to like Papa. Pray this apparently early spring doesn’t herald another monstrous summer. But then earth is heating up, isn’t it, partly our fault, partly geologic time for it anyway, and sea levels are rising faster than expected. It’s just life, relax and let it be, let it run its course. Mentally, morally, spiritually I’m at home in Our Town, Act Three, as the Stage Manager closes down for the night ——>
"Most everybody's asleep in Grover's Corners. There are a few lights on: Shorty Hawkins, down at the depot, has just watched the Albany train go by. And at the livery stable somebody’s setting up late and talking. Yes, it's clearing up. There are the stars doing their old, old crisscross journeys in the sky. Scholars haven't settled the matter yet, but they seem to think there are no living beings up there. Just chalk ... or fire. Only this one is straining away, straining away all the time to make something of itself. The strain's so bad that every sixteen hours everybody lies down and gets a rest.
"He winds his watch.
"Hm. . . . Eleven o'clock in Grover's Corners. You get a good rest, too. Good night."
An anomaly this evening, my royal nonsuch doesn’t get written at night, so this will be an exception, what’s the deal?
This evening (last night for Wednesday morning readers, and for me sitting here editing) I phoned David Damon in Jacksonville, because I’d promised to do that whenever, and whenever is here. I gave David our news from Panama City, and he gave me his news. Father Damon was our first rector at Holy Nativity Episcopal Church, Panama City, middle 1950s, and many of us have kept in touch, visited back and forth, watched Susan, Julie and David grow up and into middle age. Olive died a few years ago. Father David is under hospice care. At Christmas he found he couldn’t stand in church to sing the hymns, so checked into Mayo. He told me they did a thorough workup on him, then told him they would help make his hospice arrangements. Nine years ago he had a bout of melanoma, which after treatment was thought to have been beaten. Whether it’s the melanoma returned, or whatever, he said it’s spread throughout him, so pervasive there was no justification for exploratory. So, he’s at home there in Jacksonville, Susan lives next door, he told me, David comes for a few days a weekend, Julie comes from Tallahassee often. I asked Fr. David if I could share his sad news, and he said “It’s not sad news, it’s the way life is.” He said, “I’m 90 and this is life, and it’s good.” He said please let all our beloved friends in Panama City know.
Tonight we’re watching the SuperTuesday results on TV. Truth, Linda is watching for both of us. I can’t stand it, but even if I could stand the news and the nation's course without gagging, I can’t stand television, so I sit here and watch the fingers dance. The most appropriate thing I saw today, sent to me by my only Belovedy who wasn’t here tonight, check this out, apropos of America 2016, a tweet from Libya:
“If you’re an American confusedly watching the darkest forces of your nation rally behind a demagogue, maybe you can understand the MidEast now.”
Eight months before Election 2016, I like to think and hope “it can’t possibly get any worse than this.” But it can, downhill from here. How did this happen, why? We've done it to ourselves. It is happening because Americans are so angry and filled with disgust, hatred and contempt for our politics (which is us) and our political scene and our politicians. There is only one way to solve this, and though not unthinkable, it’s unspeakable.
Tuesday was a heavy day start to finish, my car to the shop at 7:30, Cramer GM graciously handed me the keys to a loaner car. All day with ordained ministry and a family I love dearly. Home to see my next three generations loving life.
But I am the blessed one: I got to live in America’s golden age, I got to ride in the back seat of this station wagon, even got to drive it once long ago.
He winds his watch.