My technique of opening a new "page" before I leave the old "page," so to speak, has been working, blessedly, and now I am on my third weblog, page, in one day. Of course, I worked on the one before the last one for several weeks and am still not certain that I nailed it, to use a Christian image. The idea is definitely there, but a reader would do well to read the texts and draw her or his own conclusions. So say I. So say we all. Now where did that come from? It feels rather ominous.
I notice that the date of the above paragraph is June 20. Today is August 10, Thursday. Goodness. I have been absent without leave, or rather, my wife has dislocated me from the dining room into a more or less back room, so that the dining room table will always look nice, good, beautiful. Sigh or suspiro, in Spanish. I am also wearing Bluetooth headphones that are now playing a Mozart symphony in my head. Should Someone yell at me, I won't be able to hear her, or him, of course. Heh heh heh. So far the only problem with the headphone music is that I can't figure out where to go to make a playlist to keep the music coming. I know it is in there somewhere, but I can't find the where yet.
I keep seeing things to write about; however, by the time I sit down I have forgotten all about them. Not good. At the moment, there are two subjects suggesting themselves, maybe three. 1). How to out smart the spelling system that seems to know what word I want even before I do. If the machine gets it before I do, there must be a problem with my prose! Ha! Got all the way to "s" before the machine caught on.
2). Simon's big adventure. A week or two ago we couldn't find him in the backyard though we could hear a distant barking coming from somewhere to the left of the deck. [so nice to lean back and let my new wireless Bluetooth headphones play Mozart in my ears. ]. Okay. Mary told Frollie to "go find Simon," and she did. She led us to the little red-no-longer tool house. Simon had followed a creature, probably a possum down under the tool house and was continually barking excitedly at whatever. We could not get him out. We tried luring him with food. Nothing. If it was a raccoon there would probably be a battle under there, but no battle so far, so, using impeccable logic, no raccoon. Just a hungry possum, probably, but neither Mary nor I could get down there to see what was going on or to grab him. We called our friend Fred. Fred came over. Meanwhile, Simon has been under there barking rapidly for close to an hour. Shortly Fred managed to grab Simon's collar and drag him out.
Simon was one exhausted dachshund. We put him on the floor in the house next to the water bowl. He took a very long drink and collapsed on his side. He lay there panting rapidly, stumbled to his feet, drank more water, and fell over again. Pant, drink, collapse onto his side. As far as we could tell there was nothing really wrong with him except that he was exhausted. What on earth he would have done had Fred not hauled him out of there is open only to speculation, for after all he is a dachshund, stubborn, relentless, determined, obsessive, etc. We should have had a video! "Under the tool shed!"
Well, the large hole is now sealed up. Of course, Simon immediately went over there the next time he got out, but no entrance for him. Mary left a small hole for the "possum" and since there has been n unpleasant odor emanating from under the tool house, we assume the creature got out too. Which leads me to the third topic:
3). Death. I was checking the Herald Leader obituary page this morning, when it occurred to me again: one day not too far away you too will not be reading the page looking for Berea deaths; you will be the Berea death. How interesting, I thought. My life reduced to a small notice in the Lexington newspaper. Everything I had ever loved, thought, or felt, gone forever. Or not. My sense is that God must know who we are as in Psalm 139, I think. And that, like Christ, one can let go and trust that God can remember us into resurrection. I seem to remember that that is how the angel in M L'Engle's A Wind in the Door is able to sacrifice himself. God won't forget us. The mystery enfolds us into eternity.