crawling home

Saturday morning, the boat that speeding fast to East returned this way and now sits idle as the owner tries repeatedly to crank the stalled motor. A reason if ever, to have two motors, even a tiny troller. A boat that won’t go reminds me of Summer at The Old Place when my brother towed a boat over from Louisiana, only to work on it down in the lower part of the front yard the whole vacation week and finally tow it home to Denham Springs. Family lore, memory, a story for the ages.

Okay, he has it started now and moving slowly. Now stalled again and rocking in the wake of a passing larger boat. Again, the futile sounds of cranking. Certainly hope he doesn’t say bad words, my own sin, my fault, my fault, my own grievous fault.

Anyone comes to Sunday School tomorrow, it won’t be Confirmation Class but SS as usual: some sort of eccentric Bible study. As it’s St. Nicholas Sunday no one may come, but who does, we’ll wing it. 

Lord have mercy. 

Christ have mercy. 

Lord have mercy.

DThos+