land that I love

Gone now, beautiful, gorgeous, magnificent lightning in clouds to the east and south of 7H when I first went out on the porch early predawn darkness this Sunday morning.

stand beside her. and guide her.

Couple squares of dark chocolate along with first mug of hot & black to open the morning along with the laptop lid. Not taking care, pulling the half-finished mug of coffee off the prayerbook where it was perched, onto the living room rug. The good news is that this oriental rug from Linda's step-father's living room is of such pattern that you'll never notice whether there's stain or no stain; the bad news is that Bubba doesn't really care all that much about this magic carpet anyway. And there's more good news: it's not my condo anyway; the beloved next generation can deal with it and I don't think they especially like this rug either.

Why use the rug then? Because it's got so many colors and patterns in it that it ties together all the much loved but shabby mis-matched furniture in here to blend beautifully. Everything goes with everything else, but only with this rug in here.

The little single-servings of guacamole make a good, fairly healthy, and I suppose reasonable breakfast, lunch dinner, and/or supper appetizer or even substitute, if you know what I'm sayin' - - 90 calories. Several brands, different levels of spiciness. It goes fine with the second mug of hot & black.

Still at least one gnat in each eye from last evening's outing on the yacht club grounds. In my bathroom there's some sort of eyedrops that might wash them out, but I'm untrustingly reluctant unto Good God, Hell No to put anything but water in my eyes. Maybe I can flush them out with the shower later this morning?

There's the weather radar as I write. Viewed in motion, it's heading our way as the sky darkens to the west and south. Folks in those Thomas Drive skyline condominium high rises will get it first, then the Bay, then us.

Semi-retired, we're skipping the eight o'clock church service these days and going at ten-thirty, unless I'm filling in for the rector (we call it "supply") or it's my scheduled day in the pulpit. Semi-retired? Hell, I've been semi-retired since late summer 1998, when we finally once and for all moved home to Panama City. Following that, worker on the Cove School building for a year or so, two stints as Interim priest in beach parishes, one for nineteen months, the other for five years, time as chaplain and religion & ethics teacher at HNES, and three stints as priest associate at Holy Nativity. Our rector is on line to retire next May 2024 and as he goes, I will settle into this chair and become part of it.

While I was doing EfM training at Sewanee one session years ago, Linda and I stayed in a bed and breakfast that was actually the home of a retired priest and his wife. She ran the "inn" and saw to our comfort, which was fine, a bedroom and adjacent bathroom upstairs, the identical same breakfast each morning. It's been years, I'm sure they're dead now, and my understanding is that up there on The Domain you can't own land and your house, you lease them for a Time. Anyway, the priest himself never said a word to us, but sat all day in a wooden rocking chair in the center of the living room with an open Bible in his lap. My expectation (it's not a plan, I never plan anything, and I like it my way) is not a Bible, but my laptop open in front of me and the fingers set free to tippy-type away until the end of Time.

+++++

Heavy rainstorm swept through for a few minutes, a really nice Sunday morning breakfast together, clearing sky, but then darkening, darkening, darkening,

followed by another heavy rainstorm, that's going on now, and thunder rumbling in the distance behind it.

For most, a great morning for sleeping in.

RSF&PTL