SOME DAYS I THINK I AM SO FAR OUT OF THE LOOP that I am in an alternate universe. Today is one of those days.
One of the Usual Suspects handed me a clipping from last Sunday’s paper about a popular therapy being used on athletes to help them heal quicker:“Cryotherapy.”
We’re not talking about putting an icepack on your head to sooth a headache. Nope. We’re talking some serious cold here.
MY OFFICE IS CROWDED TODAY. Of course, “my office,” also doubles as a corner table in the Starbucks a few blocks from home. I can usually shut out the hubbub and foot traffic around me, but today, for some reason, it is all getting on my nerves.
THEY’RE BAAAAACK!
Every year for the past decade or so Terre Haute (That’s French for, “I need to wash the car again”) has been the winter camping ground for upwards of 10,000 Crows. When the weather begins to get a bit nippy and the leaves start turning lovely shades of red and gold this city is invaded by a sky-blackening horde of these bad-attitude flying versions of Chase Utley (for non-baseball fans: look him up, then give in to the urge to wash your hands).
LOOKING AT THE SKY THIS AFTERNOON I see what looks like a winter sky. I know that winter is not here, officially, until just before Christmas, but my body does not know that.
I saw an old guy recently who was wearing a T-shirt that read, “Getting old ain’t for Sissies.” I have come to truly understand that that is true, in Spades, a solid gold, cold hard fact. Ya gotta be tough.
NO MATTER WHERE WE HAVE BEEN – No matter where we are now – it is where we are going that matters more. We can’t change the past. Things will never be the way they once were, like it or not. Our Present is squeezed by so many outside forces that are beyond our control, but it is Tomorrow that we can plan for.
AS I LEFT HOME THIS MORNING to go to worship in the Chapel at St. Arbucks I checked my phone to see what the temperature was. It said it was 31 degrees outside. Just to double check I turned on the Weather Channel.
DEAR GOD,
I DON’T USUALLY TRY TO SPEAK WITH You in such a public manner, but I just feel that this open letter might be the best way today. I hope that this is OK with You. Here goes.
WE GOT DUMPED ON the other night with about 5” of the white fluffy stuff (not marshmallows). The snow started about midnight and by morning it had turned our cars into large white lumps.
YOU ARE READING THIS on Monday. I am typing this on Friday afternoon. Knowing that might help you to understand what follows.
As I type this the sun is shining and the temperature in beautiful Terre Haute, Indiana is 13 degrees, Fahrenheit. I might look back on that as the high point of this weekend.
TO THE BEST OF MY KNOWLEDGE and belief today is Tuesday. Yesterday was Monday and all signs indicate that tomorrow will be Wednesday. OK, I think I’m getting down with this seven days in a week business.
Now, I understand that having trouble with the whole concept of “week” might be of concern and indicative of a more serious and underlying condition, but not with me and not now.
Let me explain.
I LIKE SNOW LESS than I like going up and down flights of stairs. I like snow less than I like going up and down flights of stairs that don’t have handrails on both sides.
I like snow less than I like Jeff Bridges movies – and that is saying something.
But why do I feel this way? Is there some deep, dark, pseudo-psychological, brain cell tweak memory that has made me feel this way? Could be.
Down the Hall on Your Left 