LP to CW 6-29-1957

A near perfect day of life yesterday, beloved StAndrews Bay, Florida humid and warm, a pop-up black cloud thunderstorm bullied its way through, and the day closed beautifully.

Again from 7H this morning, June 29, 2022

78F 95% a breeze from the east at 5 mph, gentle, cooling, soothing. Black coffee and a pinch of cashew nuts for breakfast out here on 7H porch, where a bit of Fr Richard's meditation this morning sits just right:

The following saying captures the Hasidic emphasis that, as the biblical Jacob discovered, “this place is the gate of heaven” (Genesis 28:17):

It is said of a certain Talmudic master that the paths of heaven were as bright to him as the streets of his native town. Hasidism inverts the order: It is a greater thing if the streets of a person’s native town are as bright to them as the paths of heaven. For it is here, where we stand, that we should try to make shine the light of the hidden divine life.

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And this is indeed the essence of our Baptismal Covenant, how we promise to live this life. For all that Christianity has constructed and offered as hope and promise in the nature of Tolkien's Legendarium, 7H is as close to heaven as I could ever hope to be,

and yes, deep rolling thunder is rumbling from that dark cloud.

We grew up in quite a different America, didn't we. For those of us on the top of the heap, all seemed perfect, didn't it, and it never occurred to us that all was not, did it, while actually we were as Apart as South Africa, a white society served by our servers. Part of our blessed self-assurance was that we loved them and treated them well. Whoever is on top always knows its perfection, and we did. And we do: It's All Good. Right and Good where human knowledge and divine truth do not merge.

We lived in The Cove, where prominence and propriety included certain order to things, bridal showers in the PCNH, and they were, bride's photograph, wedding dress and bridesmaids named and their dresses described in exquisite detail, ceremony and reception featured in the society section of the PCNH. It was all to the highest standards of Panama City society, and we did it and loved it and drove away into the rest of our lives.

So it didn't get painted with white signs "just married" and with cords dragging shoes and tin cans, I left the red 1957 T-Bird at the house and later gave Walt the key and asked him to go get it for us. He did, and Walt may have snapped the photo as the newlyweds drove away. My sister Gina was one of the bridesmaids in light green. I will never stop missing her.

With a rare steak this evening, a martini or a glass of Australian shiraz.

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