Another glorious Sabbath Day has passed. This one was particularly good. My wife made pancakes with macadamia nut chunks in them. Lots of butter. Lots of syrup. Yummers.
We tidied up the downstairs. J had dumped some soup in the shag carpet and that started smelling like vomit. One way or another I am getting rid of that carpet this week. It is foul to the core.
Then off to church with the older kids, which was a relaxing delight. I actually got to listen to the speakers. We got there moderately on time for a change as well. I don't know how to describe it. I was just relaxed the whole time. The whole day was just a joy.
I went home teaching in the evening, both families doing well. I have a new HT companion named Richie. He is working as an assistant manager, but his real passion is speakers. Building custom speakers. It's all greek to me. But it seems that he should be making a living doing that, the thing he loves and is useful to society. Richie is like Clark Kent: mild mannered, unassuming, but with a half-smile and a heroic nature. He has black hair, strong chin, and horn-rim-type-rectangular-lisa-lobe-type glasses. And some stubble you could sand your deck with.
In Sunday School the lesson was A Mission of Saving. It occurred to me that Brigham Young didn't whistle in his white steed, jump on, and gallop off to the rescue. He organized things. Each person had a smaller assignment in the big picture. It was a group effort. I just got a little insight into leadership, because I tend to just want to do everything myself. I call it "giant pulsing brain syndrome".
I watched two episodes of Warehouse 13 with my wife. I ate some cookie and cream ice cream.
I had a dream the other night. I was walking down Siskiyou boulevard into Ashland, where the trees are large and shade the road. This is a common element. I notice that the dandelions have grown very large, and in this one yard they are a small forest of them, about eight feet tall with wrinkled and hard green trunks, gently curving. Their heads were a full sphere of seed pods larger than a basketball. As I peered into the yard I could see the soft-glow outlines of party-goers, in ballroom regalia and masks, and the clinking of glasses, and the murmur of voices.
It sounds like a lot of fun, but I must move on. I have somewhere to be.
Posted by Blue Table Painting at 7:34 PM