Arrived Safely Not until fairly recently did it slip out after all these years, that the old man was known in the family as Mr. Safety . Affectionately one hopes. But partly at least because of my obsession with the safety ratings of the cars my loved ones drive.   In the internet age, abundant information is at the fingertips to help those who decide on the family cars, as we choose, assign, and buy wisely. The Insurance Institute for Highway Safety http://www.iihs.org/ratings/ is one vital source. Another is safercar.gov a government website http://www.safercar.gov/Vehicle+Shoppers/5-Star+Safety+Ratings/2011-Newer+Vehicles of the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration. Anyone who puts a beloved behind the wheel of other than the safest possible car is ... nevermind. But a son, daughter or spouse is irreplaceable, and the proverb is “Better safe than sorry.” A third trusted source, Consumer Reports strongly advises parents not to follow the old dictum of assigning a yo...

When Kristen was very small, we lived in Apalachicola, where she learned to love oysters. Stew, fried, baked, on the grill, stovetop in a pan, in the oven. We retired home to Panama City when she was five. From time to time we had mullet at home or at The Fish Net on Highway 77 in Lynn Haven, and, a true Panama City native, she acquired a taste for mullet too. Friday, she arrived home from college for fall break, leaving about noon today to return to school. For supper last night we took her to Buddy Gandy’s Restaurant on Highway 390, which is St. Andrew’s Boulevard from Beck Avenue to Lynn Haven. On the left driving north (west side), it’s on past the old airport and a bit beyond Si Mathison retirement home, just the other side of a gas station. We’ve had supper there three times now and find it superb for our local tastes. Unlike the two great seafood restaurants on Beck Avenue downtown in St. Andrews, there’s never been a queue, no line of people sitting outside waiting to get in....

Don’t read The Rest of the Story In church yesterday (Proper 23A, Lectionary Track One) we read Exodus 32:1-14. Moses was up on the mountain for so long that the people whined again. Aaron took their rings and necklaces, bracelets and earrings, and made a golden calf for them to worship instead of the Lord. The Lord was furious and determined to burn hot and incinerate them, but Moses talked him out of it.  Needless to say, that wasn’t the whole story. Arriving back at the Israelite camp carrying the two tablets upon which the Lord had written the commandments, Moses saw what was going on, and in his rage smashed the tablets to the ground and destroyed them. Then followed terrible punishment of the people (Exodus 32:15-35) in Old Testament fashion. We skip a bit and continue this coming Sunday with Exodus 33:12-23, the PG (Parental Guidance - brief nudity) story in which God exposes his backside to Moses. To know what’s going on historically though, one would have to read the part ...

Proper 23     The Sunday closest to October 12 Lord, we pray thee that thy grace may always precede and follow us, and make us continually to be given to all good works; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who liveth and reigneth with thee and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen. Marion Hatchett ( Commentary on the American Prayer Book ) reports that this ancient prayer was in the 8th century Gregorian sacramentary for the daily offices as well as being the collect for the 17th Sunday after Pentecost. Quaintly to us, the early English prayer books had “prevent” in its archaic meaning of “go before,” instead of “precede.” We pray that God may guide us to dedicate our lives to lovingkindness. Let it be so. TW+

Sabbath. 69 F and a cool Bay breeze. The years Kristen played soccer, some of the games at Harders Field were the hottest time of day and year in the sun. To provide shade for the girls on her team we bought an E-Z-UP canopy, 10’ x 10’ and erected it before each game. That was several years ago and it has abided patiently in our toolhouse. We’ve taken it out and laid it on the back porch. If anyone wants it, it's free for the taking, email me twellerpc@gmail.com . If no takers, we’ll donate it to Goodwill on 23rd Street or the Animal Shelter Thrift & Gift Shop on Harrison Avenue.  To honor Columbus Day, Kristen’s college has a long weekend. She drove home yesterday, arrived early evening before dark. Returns Tuesday. Garmin helps. Papa’s high anxiety may or may not help. Tasks today. Kristen’s car to BCGM for checkup. Final sermon preparation. Sunday School handout. Galatians review for Tuesday morning Bible Study.  Bit more cleanup in the attic. Right shoe first and prai...

The Old Days and When I Was A Boy are joined by an intransitive linking verb and are therefore predicate nominative. The Old Days were When I Was A Boy. They are one and the same, there is no difference. Captain’s Table in St. Andrews was Windham’s Fish Market and the ice plant stood next door where the parking lot is today. They made 300 pound blocks of ice and had an ice crusher.  My father was a daily customer in the mid- and late-1940s, ice for our fish house. We bought crushed until we got our own crusher, then we ordered blocks. It iced down our fish in hundred-pound crates for hauling to customers in our trucks. Perfect for the purpose, never was there more delicious, crystal clear ice to chip off a bit to suck on a summer day, and for ice water and iced tea. Eventually we got our own ice machine and stopped buying ice. Until I was fourteen and allowed to drive The Pontiac round the corner to get the ice, the ice plant would deliver our ice in the truck of my dreams: a 1...

A Sunday in September 1985 if memory is right. George had been absent from choir, unusual. Or maybe Ilse missed choir and George went to check on her, my memory slips there. We were having a parish fish fry right after church, mullet that some of the men had caught in cast nets the morning before, and all of us had gathered and cleaned Saturday afternoon. Beautiful they were, and fresh, fresh. The fryers were going full sizzle. It was our first parish fish fry since Linda, Tass and I had arrived at Trinity, Apalachicola the previous summer. Linda said, “George Chapel is on the phone for you, he’s really upset.” When I answered, he was distraught. He had gone to Ilse’s house and found her lying facedown, dead, in her yard, self-inflicted gunshot.  On the six or seven minute drive from the church, across the Apalachicola Bay Bridge to her house on the bluff overlooking the Bay, I wondered what I would say to George, how I would deal with this as priest and pastor. All the way, I s...