Sunday Back to Oregon

I woke with sunrise and some troubled dreams, all forgotten, and rolled over, but I was still up before 7. I had set the coffee the night before and pushed the button to start it. I am still only partially unpacked. Deborah has lost the magnets she picked up during our trip to Iceland. I have not found them in my luggage, but I am still looking and hopeful. It was Sunday, and I had a busy morning ahead of me. I have to cover the refresh of the entranceway, fireside room, and little kitchen. I usually usher. Later, I had Dungeons and Dragons at M@’s place.

I rose, found the coffee, poured a bowl of healthy cereal, and opened a box of milk (I use the little boxes, as I mostly use milk for cooking) to add to the cereal.  This went well with the liberal coffee, Equal Exchange, in my cup. The bitterness reminds us liberals that there is so much more to do. Justice with Compassion is still only a goal; someday it will be realized.

When I wrote about Justice, I often stop and think for ten to twenty minutes about all the things in the world that could be better. This little boilerplate about coffee and Justice, Dear Reader, is actually a rabbit hole when I think about Gaza, Hunger, Poverty, LGBTQ+ issues, and Racial Justice, often accompanied by tears. This is where I pause and wonder.

After some food, I unpacked some more and found clothing for church. I wrote the blog and then showered in my own shower for only the fifth time in a month. Yes, I have been on the road a lot!

I put on a dress shirt (more wrinkled from being in my garment bag), a sweater vest, and a pride tie. And selected my travel hat to finish the look. No boots or walking shoes this time, but black leather church shoes.

I talked to Deborah as I drove in; we like to connect at the start and end of our days. We miss each other after being together for two two-week trips with a short break between (which, for me, included traveling to Asheville to say goodbye to Joyce).

For me, the church was filled with many hellos and me sharing our stories about our trip to Iceland. I encountered a few challenges while I was ushering. Two street people appeared. Once joined the service and even gave when the offering plate passed by. The other wanted to sell his flowers, but we told him to stay on the sidewalk. He did use our restroom and got some water, I believe.

The new organist was playing, and there were some amusing lessons for everyone. We had not done it that way before! It was fun to see the change, and it still worked.

Pastor Ken’s sermon told the story of a Borgia Pope and how his son (don’t ask, here) may have become the model for Jesus’ image as the long-haired Italian noble figure, for the Renaissance. Pastor Ken then draws on our memory of the Martha and Mary story, so often repeated and used as an example. Ken suggests that Jesus was speaking more as a friend and that the words were kinder and softer than what folks have suggested. It was a reassurance, not a rebuke. We need to be aware of how we have learned these stories and images in our minds; some are not right, and are creations of Renaissance artists and later interpreters. Martha was loved and not rebuked, and Jesus did not look like a Borgia.

After church, I stood and shared the copies of the drawings for the remodel. I answered a few questions. Dondrea helped, but the expensive full-sized color pictures did most of the work. Folks even liked the planters that Bre put in the drawings to help with scale. It was all positive feedback.

I felt the time change and jet lag by noon and rushed out. I stopped by Wendy’s for a chili and a large potato. I combined them at the house and managed to get through a third of a Poker Face episode.  I then crawled onto the bed and woke up a few hours later. Though a bit fuzzy, I was better.

Next, I got going again and boarded Air VW the Gray. I stopped by the liquor store, Oregon is a control state, and picked out Pusser’s Rum for M@’s birthday. It is my favorite as it claims to be made from the same recipe as the Royal Navy, and that rum was used to preserve Admiral Nelson’s body after he fell at the Battle of Trafalgar. Since then, it has been called Nelson’s Blood and involves some unlikely stories of what happened to the rum (here). Perfect for gaming folks!

I rested for a few moments after returning home. Next, I reboarded Air VW, the Gray, and crossed Beaverton to the outskirts of Portland, where M@ resides with his lovely wife, Nicki. We played Dungeons and Dragons without 3rd-level characters at the start of another campaign. Jack joined us again as Scott could not make it, and we once again had a paladin. Tonight we played fight after fight, and some of them were hard. We should have backed down, but we were having fun. Jack’s paladin, at the end of the night, fell and was slain.

The battle could have gone better if it were not for the bad luck (my spells failed), and the bad guys scored hits each time once the paladin started into the battle. It happens. M@ reminded us that without risk the game would not be as fun. Our rogue was entirely missed by the ogres in the first round!

We all clapped for Jack and his character’s spectacular, if not legendary, death. Getting your head bit off by an ogre was amazing! In our play, you get a new character at the same level, often resembling the previous one, a twin, and just go on. Bravo, Jack!

I drove home and soon fell asleep. I woke up a few times as jet lag and time changes were still affecting my sleep.

Thanks for reading!