Back from Florida. Infinitely glad to be back as far as location, not so glad to be back in the thick of things schedule-wise. It was a welcome island of solace in the middle of the madness that these two months will be. Over the weekend I think I slept more than I have in the past week and a half combined, on a big hotel bed no less, that was actually long enough (those who know me know how atypical it is for me to find sleeping arrangements that don’t force me to sleep on a diagonal in the bed). The wedding was lovely. I was appointed the official videographer minutes after arrival by the mother of the bride, a sometimes arduous and awkward duty, but one I welcomed since it gave me a task to perform. I found I could plant myself in the thick of scenes and goings-on and not feel self-conscious when I had the camera on and pointed at the action–somehow the act of viewing matters through the unit’s small screen made me feel oddly detached from everything, though I was only feet away. After the reception was the best part of the whole affair. The toasts were plentiful and wonderful, and I danced more than I have in a long while.
Listening to this music makes me want the good. I hear it and I want to invest in, to experience the wholesome, the complete, the sincere, the right. The corrupt, the world-weary, the blasé, the squinty-eyed cynicism I feel around me sometimes might be more interesting for a season or two, but the strong chords feel like coming home, a welcoming embrace, a re-centering acceptance…
Began Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance over the weekend, and although I’m only part-way through, I like it immensely so far. Not only does the author write in a style I find familiar and accessible, he probes existential questions through metaphors to which I can readily relate. He leaves treatises open-ended sometimes, too (or seems to–perhaps he’ll resolve things later in the book), giving the philosophical gist of the writing a mildly self-deprecating bent, which just makes it all the more accessible. He removes the obscure QED-isms from the typical tone of that genre and strikes up an easy conversation with the thoughts in his mind, so to speak. I like it a lot.
The car broke down on the way home. Paul and I were about halfway through the wasteland of I95 running through South Carolina when I heard an odd vibration running through the car. The music was turned up; I shut it off and listened. It sounded almost like we were running over a continuous rumble strip in the road, but it didn’t disappear when I switched lanes. Then the car started hestitating, and I looked for an exit. Fortunately it happened just before an off-ramp, so we took it and directed the ailing car into the nearest gas station, pulling into a parking spot right next to a phone booth (neither Paul or have cell phones). I popped the hood; it turned out that the serpentine belt had frayed and a cord had severed half the spark plug wires. I went inside and asked the attendant if there was an auto parts store nearby, which there was. Fortunately my parents weren’t too far behind in their car, so they arrived, and we drove down to the store, bought the belt and the wires, and returned. The adjustable wrench didn’t slip off the belt tensioner as I undid it, the spark plug boots came off readily, and fifteen minutes and ten greasy fingers later the car was running better than it had in a while. God really came through for us–we could have been stranded on the road somewhere with a much more serious vehicular failure.
“You will never grow rich but you will have a life of endless interest and variety,” James Herriot wrote. I would wish that for my life.