I'm a professional.

Sean of the South: I'm not an everyday reader, probably not even most days, but some days, especially his columns when the title indicates that a reader has castigated Sean for something religious, about which the reader was certain and has now angrily quit as a reader because Sean wrote something that offended the reader's religious certainties. 

I mean, "GO, SEAN!!," nomesane? GO, SEAN, GO!!!

This morning's column was about ghosts, Sean updates to "spirits" instead of "ghosts" because he's performing in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, where a tourist business has been developed around the notion of spirits of those who died in our Civil War battle that General Lee lost at Gettysburg. Not unlike what they make the most of in St Augustine, Florida, where you can get a ride around the ghost circuit after dark, which was fun but I didn't feel it, I think you have to feel it to believe it. If you feel it, then you're likely to be certain of it. 

If you don't feel it, you can acquire similar certainty by taking the leap of faith.

Faith in the paranormal.

Which is fine and I'm okay with it, BTDT, I've been there, and am there, both with spirits of the dead and religiously. I only have a problem with with it when it nut fringes off into fanatical certainty.

Like the nasty letters that Sean Dietrich sometimes receives.

Sean can poke fun at his religiously certain readers. I'm a professional, so must abide inoffensively. 

Which always brings to mind when Ferris Bueller turned his friend's father's Ferrari over to the attendant at the carpark. They asked the smarmy attendant to be careful with the car. The attendant retorted, "I'm a professional." 

As Ferris, Cameron, and Sloane walked away, one of them commented, "A professional what?" while the carpark attendant and his sleazy buddy skidded around into the street and the Ferrari took a flying leap at the first hill.  

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Health update from 7H. My case of the four-day epizootics seems to have passed. Linda's is in about the third day. After I write, publish, and link this chapter of my nonsense I'm going up to Grocery Outlet to buy some chicken noodle soup for a soothing Sunday Dinner. Two dearly beloved people offered to bring soup, which I declined slowly and reluctantly, only declined because we don't need to be passing the epizootics along to them; so I'm going to fortify a couple of cans of Campbell's chicken noodle soup with chicken broth, egg noodles, and maybe bits of chicken after I return from Bill's, as we call Grocery Outlet.

Obviously, we're going to church by computer screen on Facebook at the ten-thirty service; which Holy Nativity Episcopal Church PC and many other churches inaugurated during covid and kept on as a regular Sunday morning offering. We'll "sign in" on the comment feature to say hello and let folks know we're online with them. 

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Linda's back in bed with her breakfast of a bowl of cereal. I'm up to fix myself an omelet, maybe two jumbo eggs. I like to buy jumbo eggs, sometimes there's a double yolk, and I like having them here when I want to cook an omelet (spellcheck keeps wanting it spelled omelette). Along with a handful of faucet water as I beat the egg, which I learned from watching Julia Childs, The French Chef on television in the early 1970s; it'll be with extra sharp cheddar cheese across the middle as it cooks in the skillet, a smear of something TJCC brought me for Father's Day that's as searing fiery hot around the edges of the tongue as it is a beautiful red color, and maybe Heinz chili sauce drizzled along the length of it after I fold it onto the plate.

I like my omelets on a white plate, a knife to cut neatly, and a fork. No silver, Linda only allows eggs to be eaten with the stainless steel kitchen forks. Maybe a second mug of hot & black, or maybe a glass of ice water. Toast? Not usually, but maybe.

Then shave, shower, dress sloppily, and go to Bill's for the soup makings. 

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shehekeyanu all the same, blessed art thou, Lord our God, King of the universe, who gives life, and sustains us, and has brought us to this Time.

T89&C

update: in the pantry, Linda found a quart of chicken broth, and a large can of Campbell's chicken noodle soup, expired October 1953 but should still be okay, I'll use that instead of making the trip; and there's always plenty of pasta, I'll substitute one for the egg noodles.