Fifty-eight years

Poignant is the word of the day. On the 58th anniversary of Mom and Dad's marriage Mom and I could not help but talk about the courtship and actual wedding. That Dad is not part of observations and conversations has been hard to grasp.

Our outing of the day was to the All Saints' churchyard. Having the wedding date on the stone both comforted and confronted. Recent mulching followed by watering had resulted in six inches or so of duff around the base of the headstone. The two of us gave the visit another level of purpose with a little housekeeping. Tarbox women to the core ...

During the evening we watched a romantic chick-flick, "Kate and Leopold," and looked at the wedding album and Mom's bride's book. She recalled guests at the wedding, talked about many of the items on the gift list and told me stories I'd never heard before -- like her suitcase having been stolen the day of the rehearsal and, get this, the groomsmen and (Michigan State's) Howland House residents having decorated the wrong get-away car, its unfortunate owners never having been identified. My stars!

A sweet and somber day.

A two-level operation

I have been thinking about Hugh Grant in the movie Three Weddings and a Funeral. He's a rather confused, always late and charmingly or irritatingly (depending on one's perspective and preferences) tongue-tied character. His being in my thoughts startled me, scared me a bit.

And, I'm hoping not to be like him this coming weekend. Tal and I are bound for Wilmington NC on Friday morning, where at St James Episcopal Parish I will offer a quiet morning on Saturday and preach on Sunday. My writing the past several days has been focused on three meditations and a sermon. Hence, I surmise, the why of Hugh Grant's appearance in my ruminations.

Anyway, while none of the four pieces of writing are in final form, I do know what I am "going" in/for each and I learned long ago not to fret where such presentations are concerned. Any deliberate scheduling I do in terms of official writing sessions absolutely never works out. Either something demands my attention blowing the schedule completely or, when I do get my way and place myself in front of a legal pad with pen in hand or at the computer with fingers poised, the words refuse to come. So, I formulate general ideas and then wait for God.

In the meantime, though, I can to other things and today that other thing was lunch at midday with a friend at a wonderful little spot -- Manuel's Bread Cafe -- in North Augusta. This establishment is in a new planned development along the Savannah River which includes, in addition to houses, condos and apartments, some interesting retail and even garden plots. The cafe is a storefront and seats only 50, so one has to arrive early to get a seat for lunch. Today being a clear and bright, the staff had placed small tables and chairs along the sidewalk and diners choosing to eat outside did so with plaid stadium blankets over their laps.

My friend had a sea bass dish and I ate a salmon cake. While we savored our memorable, delicious food, we talked of many things, including my three meditations and a sermon. I arrived home that much more clear about my direction for the weekend. I also arrived home and repositioned myself in front of the computer grateful for the marvelous, God-given ability, which we all have to varying degrees, to operate at two distinct levels at the same time, our minds using all of our activities as grist for the mill as it were.

Had I not gone to lunch, had I stayed home and fretted and paced and hated myself for saying yes to going to Wilmington in the first place I likely wouldn't be as far along as I am now. The food, the company, the place, the conversation -- through all that I, my whole being, began to write.

Ahhhh ...