Oh to be home! Under a rare uncompromising sun and adrift in my own thoughts or lack thereof, sitting under the sun, doing nothing at all, just stopping time though occasionally fending off the unsolvable thoughts: how to survive work again after you've seen paradise. (Dean Koontz offered that, post-Eden, work is a sort of repentance and that makes sense.)
Picked up Bob Evans' omelets and ate them on the still cool patio; then sat as the sun blossomed and became so steadfast. So richly textured through the fronds and leaves and I read long from Dean Koontz new memoir and the wonder-invoking Our Lady of Guadalupe book. Noon travelled to two which traveled to three, the hours falling like tokens in a slot machine, until we got Max & Erma's hamburgers. A nice vacation day.
Next morn went to St. Brendan's for 8:45 mass but it made me keenly miss dear old St. Patrick's and the comforting saintly images and stately rosary-sayers. "May the Divine Assistance remain with us always," goes the deep bass voice of the now familiar old man at St. Pat's. Feel a bit too dependent not only on daily Mass but on Mass at a certain place. St. John of the Cross said to get rid of your attachments - what if my attachment is to Mass at St. P's? What happens in the future when there are no priests? Don't borrow trouble, I'm told, today has enough of its own.