Sometimes smoke from the papermill melds into clouds above to resemble a tornado. Other than that, the morning turns out not so photogenic except maybe as a picture of clinical depression. Gray tinged with streaks of lighter gray, light almost white,
underscored by the silver Bay. I cropped most of the Bay to cut the docks intruding into the pax, but it’s there. Truth, I’m a happy person, but can’t help loving these drear days that include light but not the sun, and at eighty with bits and pieces of the mind still functioning, every day is a beautiful day and a blessing.
Because the flowers were gone, faded out, apparently removed by a family member who had brightened up everyone else’s marker, it was bothering me there was no sign of love. A few weeks go I asked Linda to select red, orange, yellow, maybe flame colors and, no flower arranger, I took them.
What took me down Tuesday afternoon was finding out a cure is at hand. Down, way, way down. But blessings for future generations, so that’s hope and happiness, isn’t it, like the polio vaccine, smallpox shot, coronary artery bypass graft, the bovine valve, all these pills that my grandmother didn’t have. Remember the horror of polio killing kids in the 1940s? I remember it well. A cure for polio, now a cure for glioblastoma.
Supper at church tonight: what?
What brought on that dream last night. Yes, technicolor, parts of the conversation are etched, anxiety about being caught. What didn’t make sense was taking two cats on leashes for a long walk and intentionally leaving me behind. At the house in the Cove where I grew up. And all that mud.
And yes, we finished Revelation yesterday. Two more Bible Seminar sessions left in the Spring 2016 term. What? Maybe something from the scriptural outback. What? Maybe something different each time. What?