Today is the first day,
Of the rest of my life,
But I wasn’t dead yesterday,
And I will be,
of tomorrow’s unraveled recollections,
awaiting the mail order loom,
in my mind.
Buck Dexter strode into the Open Clam Saloon; the roughest whiskey swilling joint south of Cape Hatteras. Buck wasn’t in the bar for more than a minute when one mean hombre approached him and asked, “is your horse parked by my no parking sign?” Buck said…
I have no car,
And my horse caught on fire,
My dog is blue like Babar,
I bought her for four Bosnian dinars,
She’s far too large,
To drive a car.
Don’t worry about me,
I’m not parking by your tree.
28th May 2015
To tell you the truth, I’m thinking about taking a pass on Trinity Sunday. When I say pass, I mean preaching something other than the world’s most complex theological doctrine. It’s not that I don’t want to fool with a convoluted explanation of the unexplainable realities of God in a twenty minute sermon, but I don’t really want to fool with an entangled explanation of the unexplainable realities of God in a twenty minute sermon. Perhaps this is the year to dabble in a simple explanation? The simple explanations, as one age old adage goes, often swerve into the heretical. Despite what some may think, I don’t intentionally jump the heretical line.
As for Trinity Sunday, I’m fascinated by the idea of God’s partnering with humanity. It’s an Old Testament idea going back to Abraham, Moses, and Israel itself. My idea is to take than notion of partnership and apply it to an understanding of the relationship between the three persons of the Trinity. God partners with God, God partners with us, good things happen.
We’re also celebrating our high school and college graduates. Everybody is going to be doing this in the coming weeks. This opens the door to a graduation themed sermon. I’m still weighing this option. Paul is the “Oh They Places You’ll Go” apostle. One could preach the heck out of Ephesians and tie it back in to the perennial Dr. Seuss graduation gift classic. To be honest, I’m leaning in this direction.
Lunch was good. Fish sticks in the toaster oven. Other than Manhattan project, I think the toaster oven was the best thing to come out of the space program. I couldn’t find the tartar sauce. Inside the refrigerator door I saw mustard, seventeen kinds of salad dressing, mayonnaise, horseradish sauce, fourteen bottles of hot sauce but not tartar sauce I worked it out. The steamed vegetables were the perfect complement to the fish. I need to write a note to myself to put tartar sauce on the shopping list*. One can’t live at the coast and eat fish without the gooey goodness of tartar sauce. The same goes for Diet Canada Dry Ginger Ale. We’re out. I drank it all.
I’ve also been thinking about what to do on air tonight. Yes, it’s radio night. (WOVV.org, 90.1 fm at 7pm, just in case I forget) My plan is to talk about the difficulty of translating “cockroach” into German; what happens when third marriages fall apart, and pretentiousness. Yes, that means Kafka, the Beach Boys, and the Four Seasons. Don’t those three go together?
My afternoon looks swamped. I’m doing some counseling and casting a demon out of an engine block. Little Bit is getting an award tonight because of her good grades. I’m praying there as well. Hopefully, the engine block isn’t possessed by anything major. Can’t be late for my little girl.
The fence repair from the other afternoon is appearing to hold. Apparently, I do have skills with wood, hammer, and nails.
Diet Canada Dry
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