Extraordinary
Monday morning, 22 Jan 2024, who'd've thought, that day of fifth grade at recess on the grounds of Cove School when, in my thoughts, the year 2000 seemed inconceivably distant in some remote future. My friends, life is short, and we haven't much Time.
That would have been 1945-46, World War Two ended with VE Day and then VJ Day, and there was talk of helicopters: they would become ordinary, every family would have a helicopter. I remember asking Mama, "Will we have one, can we get a helicopter?" and she said Yes.
Something's wrong with me, I like peace and quiet so much that it never occurs to me to put on my hearing aids mornings. In fact, it's on my check-list of Nine (Ten if I'm preaching and need to bring my sermon notes) things to make sure of at the front door as we leave 7H for church Sunday mornings. I call it "My Count" and, yes, the Nine includes phone, eyeglasses, white collar tab, wallet, zipper and several other things. If I don't do the check-list I invariably forget my ears. Yesterday I forgot to do My Count and arrived at church without eyeglasses. For that reason I keep old expired eyeglasses in the car, in my drawer in the vesting room, and in the pulpit drawer.
But ears, the hearing aids. One set, the rechargeable ones provided by VA, is controlled by my cellphone. The other set is manual and I have extra batteries at church just in case.
Deafness, Linda tells me, living in silence is a factor in dementia. My only defense is that it's so nice and quiet there.
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Sunday evening, 21 Jan 2024. Some days are Usual, some days are Extraordinary, every day is a beautiful day. Sunday has been extraordinary; as I sit here writing, it's only 8:05 PM, but unusually good so far. Why? IDK. Some folks at this extreme old age have "good days and bad days" related to rapidly deteriorating health and physical condition, but I don't seem quite there yet, although my CHF cuts in at its pleasure. At this point, Usual or Extraordinary is mental: how did I feel about today? Today's end of day examen is private and personal, I did okay, though not a factor in the day's rating of Extraordinary. What made Sunday 21 Jan 2024 so?
Sleeping until four o'clock Sunday morning, a nice mug of hot & black with my January issue of club coffee, which arrived in Saturday's mail. It usually arrives on the 9th of each month, but the coffee company had advised that the U S Postal Service was slow for some reason, no matter. I brew the three-cup measure, which gives me two full mugs of coffee for my magic mug to keep drinking-hot to the last sip.
Breakfast about five o'clock: a perfect meatloaf-dog, meatloaf in a hotdog bun with cheese, mayo, chili sauce, excellent. Again, this did not turn out to be "Mom's Usual" meatloaf that our kids grew up loving all those years, but very good. Pink in the middle. Firm for slicing once refrigerated overnight.
Contemplate navel after breakfast until hypotension carb coma takes charge, then nap until 8:15, up to get ready for Sunday.
For the past couple years, I'm more to mostly retired from part-time parish ministry, have not led the adult Sunday school class, only go to eight o'clock church when I'm preaching, so just to church for 10:30 worship and my role.
Preacher did a sermon that was thoroughly enjoyable for me, God's call on each us, sermon kind of formed around Gospel Mark's constant, repetitive use of the word "immediately." That makes a great discussion topic for adult Sunday school, which I've done. Some scholars say Mark is not highly educated, an unsophisticated writer, but Immediately, "eutheōs" lends urgency to Mark's message that, as I get him, relates to his "Markan Secret" that builds up to his clever ending (the women fled in terror and didn't tell anyone anything, period, full stop), Mark's abrupt conclusion that he intends to startle readers into jumping up and rushing out to proclaim Jesus Immediately. Mark is very clever, and intentional.
After church, to Captain's Table for Sunday noon-dinner. A proper gin martini, dirty. Two dozen raw oysters on half-shell, all arranged onto one platter, an oval tray. The oysters are from an oyster farm north of Cedar Key, maybe Steinhatchee, I don't recall what the wait person told me. Cedar Key was significantly damaged by a major storm during our 2023 Hurricane Season.
The oysters: incomparable and a major factor in Sunday's rating of Extraordinary. The oyster shells were exquisite, all about the same, with wavy edge at the front end. If you count 23 oyster shells on the tray, it's because I'd already set on aside to bring home. But which I forgot and left on the table.
Menu: Linda had mullet fillets, I had the whole mullet offering, fried, delicious beyond scrumptious. Having eaten mullet for ? 88 ? years now, I have it down pat, start with the crispy tail, nibble the crispy fins, and proceed as an expert mullet eater who knows where every bone is, and who wastes not one morsel of the meat and skin. One of these days I may order the soft-shell crab, which I love, but most restaurants really mess it up. When I order it at C's Table it'll have to be a day when they don't have mullet.
Dessert: Sunday afternoon High Priestly Nap from, what? one o'clock to a quarter to five.
Ice water, glass of cranberry juice, read more of last week's issue of The New Yorker. A great little essay about Lee Grant, who is ten years older than I am. What do I remember best about Lee? The scene in "Shampoo" when, suspecting that an affair is going on, the husband jerks the bathroom door open, only to have Warren Beatty protest effeminately "zee mist, zee mist" and the deceived husband quickly closes the door.
If I were starting life over, I'd go to more movies, I've missed a lot!
Supper, another perfect meal, the last of the most excellent artichoke, spinach, cheese dip, on saltine squares. Shared Linda's tangerine.
What made this Sunday Extraordinary? My state of mind, my perception, that I enjoyed it so.
RSF&PTL
T88&c
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