Morning Becomes Eclectic
The photograph that is attached to this posting is from a nearby market. According to their marquee sign they were having a sale on sweet potatoes, celery, and biscuits. They were also telling me that the current temperature was minus 104 degrees Fahrenheit. The time portion of the sign would only tell me that it was 22 minutes after the hour, but refused to tell me which hour. For that I was on my own.
It’s been pretty much that kind of morning.
My coffee run to St. Arbucks was met with another crowd of collegiate runners in town for the NCAA Championship Meet.
I think that tomorrow I will go to St. Arbucks wearing my sweatshirt that proclaims me as an alumnus of “Very Expensive College.” I had that printed up just for such occasions.
Looking at those young athletes made me feel seriously out of shape. No, actually, just looking in the mirror made me feel that way. All those runners just rubbed my nose in it. I left feeling inadequate, but still better educated than them.
After checking the time and temperature at the supermarket I went home and was reassured that we now have partial heat at our church. This is a big deal because my wife is the pastor of the First Congregational Church of Terre Haute and, apparently, it is minus 104 degrees outside.
The church, erected in 1903, has been laboring with a furnace just a bit younger and that monster completely died a few weeks ago. Getting a new one has taken longer than expected. For a couple of weeks we held Sunday services huddled up to portable heaters, swaddled in blankets, and praying for a warm front to pass through town.
Now that all of the parts have arrived and the workers are putting in very long days to install everything, we can proudly announce that part of the building has heat. We stopped by yesterday and, for the first time in too long I did not feel like a frozen fish stick. Tomorrow I believe that we will all be able to worship without looking like a lost polar expedition.
This morning continued to jump around like a goldfish on a hotplate when I learned that, while one family member is recovering nicely from getting her tonsils out, another has had a mild stroke. The prognosis is good for both of them, but it is turning this Saturday morning into something resembling an emotional Pachinko machine.
I lift my cup in hopes that the rest of today will be less stressful for my wife and I, warmer than minus 104 degrees F, and relaxing enough that we will be able to flop into our comfy chairs to turn on the TV and continue binge watching “Foyle’s War” on Netflix.