cup of tea
At my big house, The Old Place, the best part of waking up from my Sunday afternoon High Priestly Nap was looking out front, through what at some point I'd changed from Pop's original door to a 15-light door for just this reason, at StAndrewsBay. Post-HMichael, at 7H, waking to the Bay is still or again the best thing about Sunday afternoon. A difference is that at the house the Bay view was largely blocked by trees until Hurricane Ivan took down a giant stretching, spreading and reaching hickory tree and several big cedar trees, leaving after HIvan just the remaining cedars, and now, there, stumps and desolation. Better, best here where there's nothing between 7H and the Bay but scaffolding that, in relief and gratitude to be home, I can appreciate and ignore.
Hurricane Michael robbed me of almost a year of life in this magical place, robbed thousands of other people too, and of even more, though I, we, had other benefits, mixing it all up in heart and soul and mind and strength (to borrow from Shema, Mark 12:30 and our Collect for Purity) easily brings the emotions crashing down.
The second best thing about waking from the nap, and not only Sunday's HighPNap but these octogenarian days all naps, is the cup of tea. Some folks like weak tea, I prefer strong tea and have taken to using two tea bags to get it strong enough before it cools down. Sometimes but seldom a spoon of milk; but the tea. Bracing. Perfect astringency hinting bitter. Brings on quick recovery from post-nap drowsy. The HighPNap often goes an hour and a half or more, yesterday's from 1:30 to 3:50, and Linda slept until five o'clock. A sense of entitlement makes it especially satisfying.
A task: to stop the bitterness from holding on, bitterness, anger, resentment, grief; and always just beneath the surface an impotent fury that does no more good than any other raging at Heaven yet is satisfying and theologically rational. Job was an idiot to sit mildly by and just take it, but then he'd not spent twenty years in the Navy to learn all the best and right words and terms and phrases. Priest and all, I am first and unapologetically a naval officer, I know them all, and they roll ripely and sizzlingly off the tongue.
"Surviving the storm" two moving articles in the Sports section of yesterday's PCNH. "Fear, uncertainty agonize evacuees" by Dustin Kent and "'It's kind of stuck in your head forever'" by Tyler Waldrep. They brought it all back in double spades, including the savage fury that this was done to us, assault and battery with aggravated damages, who will take my case against the Creator? And who or what will ease this new and leery awareness that October is just around the corner, and will round the corner again every year. Since Hurricane Opal I should be ready, but I'm not.
Stuck in the head forever, yes, and though I understand it with my head, I don't understand it with my heart. As poignant as Jay Gatsby, in deeply profound hurt, gazing long at Daisy, finally asking, "Why?"
My life, I don't mean or intend, nor will I allow, nor am I allowing, life to be consumed with anger and burning hatred about 2018 and its aftermath. But it's still fresh, still present and heavy, constantly to be dealt with. I'll take refuge in C S Lewis quoting Julian of Norwich, "all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well." But Isaiah 6:11 again and always, "How long, Lord?"
RSF&PTL anyway
T
Sunday sundown at 7H, StAndrewsBay from Davis Point to Courtney Point.
Suddenly, panorama of lightning over the Bay and Gulf of Mexico.
Hurricane Michael robbed me of almost a year of life in this magical place, robbed thousands of other people too, and of even more, though I, we, had other benefits, mixing it all up in heart and soul and mind and strength (to borrow from Shema, Mark 12:30 and our Collect for Purity) easily brings the emotions crashing down.
The second best thing about waking from the nap, and not only Sunday's HighPNap but these octogenarian days all naps, is the cup of tea. Some folks like weak tea, I prefer strong tea and have taken to using two tea bags to get it strong enough before it cools down. Sometimes but seldom a spoon of milk; but the tea. Bracing. Perfect astringency hinting bitter. Brings on quick recovery from post-nap drowsy. The HighPNap often goes an hour and a half or more, yesterday's from 1:30 to 3:50, and Linda slept until five o'clock. A sense of entitlement makes it especially satisfying.
A task: to stop the bitterness from holding on, bitterness, anger, resentment, grief; and always just beneath the surface an impotent fury that does no more good than any other raging at Heaven yet is satisfying and theologically rational. Job was an idiot to sit mildly by and just take it, but then he'd not spent twenty years in the Navy to learn all the best and right words and terms and phrases. Priest and all, I am first and unapologetically a naval officer, I know them all, and they roll ripely and sizzlingly off the tongue.
"Surviving the storm" two moving articles in the Sports section of yesterday's PCNH. "Fear, uncertainty agonize evacuees" by Dustin Kent and "'It's kind of stuck in your head forever'" by Tyler Waldrep. They brought it all back in double spades, including the savage fury that this was done to us, assault and battery with aggravated damages, who will take my case against the Creator? And who or what will ease this new and leery awareness that October is just around the corner, and will round the corner again every year. Since Hurricane Opal I should be ready, but I'm not.
Stuck in the head forever, yes, and though I understand it with my head, I don't understand it with my heart. As poignant as Jay Gatsby, in deeply profound hurt, gazing long at Daisy, finally asking, "Why?"
My life, I don't mean or intend, nor will I allow, nor am I allowing, life to be consumed with anger and burning hatred about 2018 and its aftermath. But it's still fresh, still present and heavy, constantly to be dealt with. I'll take refuge in C S Lewis quoting Julian of Norwich, "all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well." But Isaiah 6:11 again and always, "How long, Lord?"
RSF&PTL anyway
T
Sunday sundown at 7H, StAndrewsBay from Davis Point to Courtney Point.
Suddenly, panorama of lightning over the Bay and Gulf of Mexico.