Was hailing at the house at 6:00. Still flashes of lightening, but the thunder is far away now. Driving over here, east along Interstate 94, meant that I was driving into the rain. The windshield was fogged up and I was having trouble figuring out the correct combination to clear it–hot or cold?–fresh air or recirculated air? Out of practice with that more traditionally winter activity. The weather prognostication is for 90 degrees. I am not place stock in the long term forecast, but I think they’re right about that.
Had thought that I’d take Stella for a morning walk, but oh well. Here, the tote bag dog and guy–the dog is outside, on the sidewalk bench under the awning; the guy inside. He definitely looks like he’s had a stroke; his left arm is hanging; he’s limping.
Besides taking a bike ride yesterday to Como, Liam and I took a bike ride on Saturday too. We went here, we went there; sort of reminded me of the wiggly, crisscrossing path of a child as depicted in the comic strip Family Circus.
Dorothea and Madeline got back from sailing at 12:20 this morning. D. explained that they had problems with the boat and were delayed in fixing them. When they came in at 6:00, the person who filled the diesel overfilled and apparently that means the extra diesel goes into the bilge. Even I can imagine that to be pretty nasty, and not something that a boat owner would want to ignore, unless they didn’t mind their cabin smelling like diesel fuel.
So they had to flush the bilge and rinse it with various detergents, god knows what, as well as the usual cleaning. On Thursday, D.’s sister and brother are sailing across Superior. So surely they want to be prepared for that.
But it is a shit rolling downhill sort of thing. Perhaps this is why I don’t like being in involved in such complicated endeavors.
So: they are delayed; much yelling and pissiness of the sort that I have seen often enough with sailboats; the delay; the late drive; the dog starts whimpering, whining, and yelping from her crate; I am know tired because my sleeping was disturbed.
I think that I realized one “why” for my not getting signed up for a class at St. Thomas this fall: I don’t even get to Tai Chi or yoga or Shape Note or to my mother’s to visit; I am pretty slow, sedentary and down.
Can you be a Quaker and not be a professed Christian? I hope so. I think that I fit into that category. The New Yorker has ann article about Benedict XVI and theological writings. Seems like that was a Vatican II thing, something that maybe even he professed: that no doctrine can encompass all that is, all views, all the possible pieces. And I would add: the more detailed the narrative, the more specific the requirement, the narrower the interpretation, the more likely it misses the mark.