Thursday, March 31, 2016

Not Thursday

Here’s that once in a blue moon coffee with a creamer. Chocolate the same, this bar 72% and I may eat two squares instead of one. Perfect coffee & chocolate are both dark and black. White coffee doesn’t set off the chocolate well. No matter. No, it does matter, but here we are. Creamer coffee: drink it while it's hot, because cold it's revolting.

69F 76%. Bay bedroom sliding-door open a foot overnight. Awake, Linda heard the shrimp boats, asleep, I did not. I don’t care, but because she likes the bedroom pitch black dark, the hall door is closed at night. When I opened it at dark 2:30, wind 13 mph shut it so forcefully I wondered what’s open on the Beck side. Nothing. Bathroom vents? Tiny daylight crack around the Beck door?

Mail from “Life Line Screening.” Learned my lesson in 2010: had their most thorough screen thinking the chest pains might be an issue. Nope, tests showed amazing health so I let it go. This letter goes also, into the bin.

Thursday: had calendared today as a time-off day of rest after Lent, Holy Week, and busy Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday of Easter Week but it’s not going to work out, and Friday’s booked. Maybe next week? What would I do with a rest day though? In my past, which don’t ask about, it’s none of your dandelion business, I named Monday my day off. People knocked at the rectory door anyway, someone said, “Tom doesn’t mind if you call him on his day off,” and really, I didn’t, including parishioners needing to commiserate, transients needing food, shelter, gasoline, a flat tire fixed, a tank of propane, or a motel room for the night and could they borrow my Strong’s Condordance, so July 1984 to July 1993 I had zero days off. This isn’t a whine BTW, just remembering. July 1993 my father died and mama lived in the big old house alone so I forced the issue: Sunday afternoon drive to Panama City, return to Apalachicola on Wednesday morning to resume my wonderful workweek with the Wednesday evening Bible study and dinner in the rectory great room. Moments Make Memories and I still see Ina Margaret bursting through the front door and heading for the kitchen hoisting a platter piled high with piping hot fried mullet she’d just netted at Indian Pass, cleaned and cooked. OMG. Anyway, memories. 

And those years I got to raise Kristen. She's coming over for roast leg of lamb tonight.

Recently sold my 2002 SUV and bought the 2006 car of my dreams. Well, what the hell, everybody has his/her dream car and a Cadillac V8 station wagon was mine and at eighty I’m gardenia well entitled. Low mileage creampuff, less than a fourth the price of a new one ten years ago and they aren’t even made anymore, get it while it’s hot, and it is hot. At any event, the Sirius radio people called to say they’d turned on the Sirius XM basic for my free trial. I tried it: unfortunate. The classical music stations are no longer “basic” but “upgrade” and I’m too cheap to pay their outlandish tariff. Bummer, almost everything else on the basic forty-thousand station list is rubbish, so back to my CD. Well, XM does have a “love” station and a passel of hillbilly music stations, so I saved a few. Same ole same ole: whiny music leaves me melancholy because moments make memories and it’s time to let it all go. 

Go where? Anyplace in this scalded rabbit that runs as promised. Northstar V8. Lookout, world, here he comes, there he goes. Not your grandfather's Oldsmobile.

Well, those Oldsmobile V8s also were hot, one of them still parked in that garage out at the back alley, door ajar, waiting for Bubba to ride. I had two cars there but God or somebody stole the other one while I was dreaming. Some bright morning you'll notice an Olds Cutlass zooming across the heavens. 

Nevermind. Sunday readings feature DThos1.0 in John 20 and, terrifyingly, a peek into Revelation with stinging horned beasts and lake of fire. 


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