Had a startle in Bible study this evening. I had not read the lesson before. John 1 and engaging in discipleship. When I did during, amused to see Jesus ask, "What are you looking for?" as if He knows they're looking for the reputed Messiah and come with me and we'll show them. A stretch but runs right into a crunch.
Luke 9:3. "And He said to them, “Take nothing for your journey, neither a staff, nor a bag, nor bread, nor money; and do not even have two tunics." How obsessed I get about all the items in the daily walking (Driving!) round kit, the primary one walking round money. Then keys, licence and communicator. Etc. understatement.
Can I do it. I have so much stuff to clear out. Made proposition to pastor concerning visits to homebound and hospitalized people. Hope to house in order by Christmas. Yes, I aim to have a nice one. Then, decisions about exterior and move back to Oregon.
Here a great shot of one of the purveyors of good bread. Should I? Under the regime of this discipline? Well, the Apostle Paul follows up. Work up an appetite. Deserve. My Facebook post follows a different tack. True story. Proustian?
"My first trip away from home when 14. Someone gave my father ducats to Army-Navy Game. 1966. A classmate, a Scout, came along with me to Port Authority to Arch Street, then old JFK Stadium. Great game.
Went directly home after laughing about the girls only going for uniforms. We wouldn't know what to do anyway. No problems. No scares. Fabulous. Home safe."
One of the most magnificent things I've ever seen. Should have videographed it but too much in wondrous bliss. These starlings, famous for their quickness in echelon, are feeding. The cohort on the right is finishing off the grub... they then flit over the flock to take up station on the left. So it goes on from moment to moment, the flock moving along like a conveyor belt. How marvelously behaviorist!
A good walk in the park too. Presently at Lux. No one here I know. Will be moving on. Bible study tonight. I did recommit my membership at Love Baptist. Some other time, the play-by-play of dealing with theological conundrums. Saints preserve us.
The pastor's talk last Sunday was about Joshua, son of Nun. Sheesh. Threw me for a loop.
Getting collected to get up to Cottonwood. Hope I make it there and last three days in the truck. Have put off going to chiropractor. Old practitioners have moved on. There is a place on Thunderbird and 43rd Avenue that was inviting; just a matter of coverage and I'm perplexed about the new plan: what it will and won't.
Looking forward to getting out of town. Above, way into high Sonoran.
Below, site at Dead Horse Ranch. Good base for upper Verde Valley.
Just had flashback to trek in Sycamore Canyon some thirty years ago. Then it was: will the vehicle make it? I think that was the Izuzu. Great little coupe but not much power and the suspension took a beating. That was a fantastic hike. Vivid memory once I get started.
Finally got my eyeglass order done. Had to find the prescription in the truck. All the junk mail gets thrown on the passenger floor, sometimes with other pertinent paperwork. Waited on a cooling to attack the vehicle. Meanwhile, the primary spectacles are under something in the house. Stepped on the back-up pair. Duct tape to the rescue.
The phone also has gone missing. Could have dropped from pocket. Has happened. If left behind, did the routine back-track. Unfortunately, since it wasn't formatted yet, it doesn't turn up on the search map pinpointing. On the other hand, a bit of a respite from engagement. Have gone incommunicado.
One wonders. If you clear your mind and all is "Fuggettaboutit." what to do? Let things sort themselves out. Tomorrow is sister's birthday. Miss Jiggles (The noive. A goad.) has had warpèd hostility for some time. She stole my armoire and one of the idiots stole my seat upon a break in the action. Football. Too bad we can't commiserate about Kenny Farrell's last visit. Most secret. Some people would rather compete than be friendly. No need for that.
Nothing to be done about it and I wouldn't bet on anyone giving a rat's arse about forgetting.
Had another thought of Francesca. There's a waitress nearby named Tiffany. I told her that she and I would come for breakfast. But I need to go lightly and no way I go off reservation.
It's another while between posting but, however risky, have been going to Facebook. My own advise was not to use it as a blog but the demic has driven many an assertion. Call it a will to live.
Here and now, would like to thank Taco Bell for a link-up. They say you can thank them later but I need to cut the carbs. A lot.
Stopped into Francesca's old venue. She's moved on. Very dicey finding out her circumstance. Just as difficult as whenever last time was. Married women do not behave like she did, or so I presume. Who knows a loaded concept. Not my business except for her feeling me up. That's right; a touchy-feely utterly on my thigh while minding my own... business as usual... go figure.
She's still local but distant. We'll see. Unlikely any connection.
Something of an issue, women wishing to be men. At a coffee place presently that's got a boozy profit center. The bartender has a haircut, a marginal mullet with the part of her head shaved, the hair dyed monkey-shit green. I'd like to go up to her and tell her she looks fierce but awfully officious.
Had brief converse with UofA medical student. Some mention of work experience along with that of Dr, Battalia. Usually exploratory laparotomies and cholecystectomies. He was also at many a ringside.
Not too hungry at this time... am reminded of the onion rings at Ringside restaurant on Burnside in Portland. Going past, one makes the turn north onto 23rd Avenue. Distressed at the time, shops to be had for a song. Vintage clothing, bookstores, croissants. Several taverns. A Greek deli. Sandwiches!
The woman! I'd have to take a picture. Ought I ask? Is she the bar manager? There was a problem the other day -- uncooperative juvenile barkeep. My coffee did not get creamed (A cheap trick!) so I asked him for some cream. He said he didn't have any. "How do you make a White Russian?" Punk.
The few words with the medical student went well. Mention of the facility facade on 7th Street. Oh... monkey shit green from P.A. in open heart. Sam. Did two tours in country.
