Saturday in Review
Saturday was magical from start to finish, embodied physically by the breath of the cottonwoods in the backyard, white whispers floating in the wind.
There was therapeutic gardening aplenty, the ultimate anti-"head work", and all meals were taken outdoors. The day was made better by the anticipation that Sunday would be busy - that drew taut the weekend laxity and caused me to stack pleasurable activities with the benign side effect of an uplifting cumulativism. Nothing unpleasant was scheduled Saturday, though I took it to an extreme, as I am wont to do, by closing the garage door after us as we prepared our sacred Saturday date night dinner for fear that we'd be interrupted again by our intrusive neighbor. She was out in her yard so the signal was unfortunately less than subtle, as we never close our garage door when home.
There's nothing quite as civilized as eating on our patio and then retiring to comfortable chairs two feet away from the table. Once seated, we were not easily moved; I read "like the wind" while my wife fell asleep. I consumed a prior age, the Civil War era, and was cheered by the excellence of Stonewall Jackson's generalship. There is something consoling in excellence, about witnessing a bit of perfection on this imperfect earth. It's a feeling likewise replicated by visits to the symphony.
I read until the light died, which took a long while given the approaching summer equinox until a reading light extended the magic. There was a fine broth of Seamus Heaney's poetry (including the haunting "The Afterwards") followed by a chaser of William Least Heat Moon's "Prairie Erth", with its vivid description of the caginess of foxes fooling the hounds. Wildness over domesticity was Heat Moon's conclusion. (Aside: I've mentally nicknamed Bill Luse "William Least Heat Luse", though I haven't shared that with him or anybody else before this. Bill, like the original American Indians, has a fierceness and lack of domesticity. His fierceness is both polemical (see his defense of Terri Schiavo back in the day) and physical (see this and this)).
While walking to Communion the next day I see the cherubic figure of co-worker Kim's baby over her shoulder, a classic Madonna & child, and later while walking out Kim says, "don't paint Mary!" and it took a second to register, forgetting, as I do, that she reads the blog. Alluding to today's gospel ("Not everyone who says, 'Lord, Lord' will enter the Kingdom of Heaven") she asked how can I quit Bingo after that, but upon reflection that gospel seems pretty neutral on the subject of bingo volunteerism given that it's not our works that can comfort us, but only the hope that Jesus will claim us.