A Day at the Movies

So today, we decided to treat ourselves to a movie. Understand this was perhaps the first movie we have seen at the theater in 4 or 5 years. It's been so long we are not sure what we saw last. Our best guess is that it may have been the first Harry Potter movie. It was a long time ago.

So as fate has it, we decided to see Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince. Just as well do it right, so we went to see it at the IMax in 3D. It is a special occasion, so we wanted to get one jumbo popcorn and a large drink. Then go get a bite to eat for a final meal for the day after it was over.

Movie-$22 for two of us.
popcorn and drink $22 for two of us
Meal-$25 for two of us

Now we know why we don't go out much anymore.

Okay, I know, in most theaters there are matinees that are cheaper. Not sure about the corn and drink. If we go again anytime soon, it won't be a jumbo, perhaps one between us. The next one I want to see at the theater will be Alice in Wonderland with Johnny Depp and that won't be till next March sometime.

But it made us realize that as ordinary folks with limited funds, what we used to take for granted really is not there anymore. Perhaps it is time to resurrect an earlier time still, where people came together and entertained themselves. Folks could bring a potluck dish, or just snacks, and sit around the table laughing and enjoying life in ways most today can't quite grasp. Too busy they say.

Perhaps so, but I saw people out to the theaters today in considerable numbers. How many more are sitting at home because laying out $75 to 100 for an evening is just not possible? Clearly all of us had made time to attend a movie. Is it really that hard to find time to get together with each other?

I don't have answers yet. But the questions will be there for a time I suppose. I imagine we will catch the next Harry Potter when it comes out on DVD.

A True Buffalo Tale

Today I turned on the news to see increasing violence at town hall meetings and a growing insurgency to strike back. Will the violence continue to grow? Should I write about this? I think not today. Instead my mind drifts back to another time and place. I'm not sure of the date, but I think it was around 1956. It was time for summer vacation, and Daddy had something planned for all of us.

Sitting at the kitchen table, Daddy says, "How would you all like to take a road trip?" Momma looked up a bit surprised.

"Where to?" I ask.

"Perhaps to West Texas and maybe New Mexico. Maybe even detour around by Old Mexico. I've got two weeks coming next month."

Momma seemed okay with it, and my brother and I were excited already. "Will we see the Alamo?" I asked.

Daddy grinned. "Yep, we are going right through San Antonio and that's on the agenda." No child at that time missed the Disney show and a very popular series was "Davy Crockett" starring Fess Parker.

"Daddy?" I asked. "Um... can I eat buffalo meat there?" I guess watching them eating buffalo on television left a real taste in my mouth for it, though I hadn't a clue what it tasted like.

"Hmmm they may serve it. We'll have to see. If they got it, you can order it."

It seemed like no time at all before we were on the road. As was my habit, I watched every twist and turn in the road, asking what was growing in the farm fields along the way. I kept asking, "When do we get to San Antonio?"

Every time Daddy answered, "It's over the hill and around the curve."

One hill and one curve later, "Are we nearly there?"

"Over the hill and around the curve."

After about half a dozen of these I figured out I was being had. I settled back in the seat and slumped over to take a nap.

"Pull over!!" Okay, did I mention that as a child I was very much subject to car sickness? Over they pulled and I jumped out and lost the last meal from a roadside cafe along side the busy highway. Before I crawled back into our blue and white Oldsmobile dad had bought the year before, Momma wiped my face clean, had me blow my nose, and then it was okay to reenter. "How far now?" I asked.

"Over the hill and around the curve." You know he was beginning to get on my nine year old nerves by this time. I sat back and was cranky for awhile. "Over the hill and round the curve" I muttered quietly to myself in the most sarcastic voice I could muster.

It was nearing dark when we arrived in San Antonio. Daddy got us a motel room, and I learned we would see the Alamo the next day. Now it was time to find a restaurant, one preferably that served buffalo. Daddy pulled into a such an establishment, and in we went. I was just beside myself, I was so excited. After being seated, Daddy opened the menu and looked it over, frowning ever so slightly. "Do they have buffalo Daddy?" I asked.

Momma gave Daddy a look like, now what are you going to do? Those two talked more using nothing but their eyes than anyone I ever knew. He sat there a second looking over the menu, then said, "I'll be right back." He rose from his chair, then walked over to our waitress. Daddy was one of those people who talked with his hands as well as his voice, and I saw him in animated conversation with the woman, then coming back to the table, smiling.

"Can I? Can I order buffalo?"

"Well I was worried because I didn't see it on the menu. I talked to our waitress though and she has a side of buffalo meat in the fridge. They weren't going to offer it till tomorrow, but for you, she's making an exception."

I was ecstatic. This was a huge thrill for me, and I couldn't wait. Buffalo just had to taste really good. After all the pioneers lived off the stuff. The waitress came to our table. Daddy and Momma ordered, then it was my time. "I'll have some buffalo meat!"

"How do you want it cooked?"

Daddy spoke up, "Better make it medium. don't overcook i though." My brother was not so certain, so he got a hamburger.

Every few minutes, I asked, "When will it be ready?"

Then here she came with our meals, setting the large tray on the table next to us, she served up Momma and Daddy's food first. Then right there in my plate before me, I gazed at my first glimpse of buffalo meat. I had not expected it to be served that way. It was covered in gravy and sauteed onions. Eagerly I took my knife and cut off a big piece and stuffed it into my mouth.

"How's the buffalo?" Daddy asked. Momma just smiled.

What could I say? Waves of horror and revulsion swept over me, and how could I ever admit after all this that I didn't like buffalo meat? Why this was the very stuff that made our nation great. Yet here I am, struggling to chew it up and swallow it. I 'mumble, "It's okay." How am I ever going to finish this plate with my dignity intact.

It tasted exactly like liver! With each bite, I struggled more. Today I enjoy liver, but back then, it was very near the top of things I did not want in my mouth. Every swallow was followed by a powerful urge to toss it back up.

With maybe two bites left, Daddy asks me, "Want some more? I know how much you love buffalo!" He began to giggle and momma joined in.

In that moment, reality set in. There was no buffalo meat at this restaurant. I was eating liver. They had both fooled me! I felt really stupid and small in that moment of realization. I tried to laugh along with them, but it was half hearted. Many years later I would eat buffalo, courtesy of an uncle who raised them. But in that moment and time, it was the last thing I would ever consider eating. Secretly inside I was furious, but as children of that age do in adult child relationships, I sucked it up as a lesson learned. I should've known better. Perhaps next time I would.

We would see the Alamo the next day. Then to West Texas, and Big Bend, then a trip to Mexico. Standing out in the mercado, my one memory from that trip was an old man talking to me, showing me a rattle he had carved and was selling. In Big Bend we almost got caught by a flash flood which was kind of exciting. Then there was a very long trip back home. I'm glad we went, and saw a bit of our history. I am not glad I ate liver.

What is old is new again

Yesterday I spoke of my love for pouring through old archives and getting a sort of voyeur's view of daily life from the past. I find it incredibly comforting actually. Today I want to explain why that is.

In 1957, I was 10 years old. Russia launched the Sputnik satellite, beginning what was to become the space race between us and then Soviet Union. People were beginning to transfer over to color tv in lieu of black and white. Our home computers were our brains and perhaps a slide rule to help for the older kids. Calculators were pieces of office equipment and not at all compact. As a child, I reflected how lucky I was to live in this brave new world of technological advancement. I felt worlds apart from those who came before. We were the modern generation, the generation that would transform the planet! It was exhilarating over the next few years while I looked with patient understanding towards my elders who just would never quite comprehend what this all meant.

Of course not that many years later, it would be my turn to look towards the breathtaking speed of technological progress, and hope I could just hang on and keep up. Even today, there are my young friends who with compassionate eyes understand that theirs is the generation where we enter that brave new world, a world where peace and prosperity and progress will bring all of us together. A cosmic Kumbaya. What I did not know back however was that I would look backwards with smile, finding peace in the knowledge that it's the same as it ever was.

Technology may be advancing at record speeds, but human beings now and a thousand years ago are really more alike than different. Yes our politics change, but even there, the age old struggles between those who would see the people and diversity as an ally and those who would view the same as a threat. The parties may have different names, but underlying motivations remain the same.

While going through some of the archives several months back, I read a note from the pastor to the board. He expresses the importance of getting a quorum to show up for a congregational meeting. Serve food before the meeting he surmises, knowing that food will ensure a crowd. I seem to recall food before our last Congregational meeting. Nothing like traditions it would seem.

Then there are the letters of the young folks going off to war. Tragically that has not changed either. We like to think only in recent times have others have held tolerance in high esteem, such as Pagan belief for instance. Yet in one sermon James Tuttle said,

"But what about those who have never heard of Christ? Such persons are not Christians of course. But they are not necessarily bad persons. Pagans are judged as Christians are, according to the light they have, and the use they make of it. G_d loves them no less for their being pagans and Christ lived and died no less for them."

His language was framed of course in our earlier Universalist Christian terms, but expressing himself in terms of universal salvation, a Universalist notion. This from a collection of sermons published in 1891.

Among some old civil war era memorabilia in our family, was a letter written by a young woman to my great great grandfather Steelman. She poured out her heart to him in a remarkable letter by any standards. In that era women were expected to marry early. The man she loved had left for war, and because of the pressures of the women at their time, she married another young man instead The pain in the letter could be felt over a century later. Paraphrasing, "I will be a good husband to him of course for it is my duty. But my love will always be with the other." I could just feel her shaking fingers as she crafted the words on paper she would send to my ancestor. Perhaps we don't make people marry any more, but unrequited love for a host of reasons is still very much a part of our lives.

Reading old committee meeting notes by people who were part of the sewing circle, or the Women's Universalist Association or the Clara Barton Guild, beyond the crisp dryness of meeting notes, there are deep friendships, conversations never recorded, loves and lives gained and lost. Through it all there are the acts of incredible kindness, the good, and sometimes the ignoble, the bad as well. One hundred years, three hundred years, a thousand years ago. It could be but yesterday, and that is comforting.

I tend these days to think of life as part of one of many ongoing cycles. We are born, are children, are adults and give birth, have children, then become older, wizened crones and elders, then fade and die, making way for the next cycle. We have cycles of the day, the month, year, and of lifetimes. With each cycle, small gains are made. Technology is not the important gauge of development as I thought it was as a child. Rather it's the steady progression towards justice. It was Theodore Parker, later quoted by Martin Luther King, who said,

"I do not pretend to understand the moral universe; the arc is a long one, my eye reaches but little ways; I cannot calculate the curve and complete the figure by the experience of sight; I can divine it by conscience. And from what I see I am sure it bends towards justice."

We have seen the end of slavery, the granting of the right to vote for women in this country. To varying degrees this has been repeated elsewhere in the world. But still the issues of racism, of misogyny, of poverty, of injustice continue to plague us. My time on this earth is finite. Yet in the greater scope of the history of our planet, in the greater scope of the cycles of life, my own journey, each journey has a role in steadily bending that moral arc towards justice. For me, that will suffice.

Voices of the past, a historical commentary of church and city

So today I went with someone else from church to the Minnesota History Center to do archival research. It's for our 150th anniversary, but it is also so much fun. Reading through the conversations, thoughts, travails of those who came before brings it into the present in ways most who take history never get to experience. Today I want to spend some time talking about my lessons from history.

In our case, the early history of Minneapolis and our church run parallel, particularly since most of the early city leadership belonged to First Universalist of Minneapolis, or First Universalist, Church of the Redeemer during the early years. This journey has been an eye opener for me, having worked on this project now for several months. When it began, I had heard much talk of two of the early pastors. Reverend Tuttle came to us in 1866. During the now famous debates with another Universalist church's pastor over Darwin's theory of evolution. Tuttle took what we now know was the wrong side. Indeed later he realized it himself, but at the time he felt quite convinced of his stance.

Perhaps because of this, most people I know from church want to skip over Rev. Tuttle right to his replacement, Dr. Marion Shutter, who delivered a brilliant series of lectures in favor of Darwin's theory. Indeed that was my inclination before my research began. My first research project was about the early theology of the church. This involved reviewing both Tuttle and Shutter. What I learned led me to a very different conclusion from where I started. Let me explain.

Many think Shutter was the better proponent of liberal theology. In the area of science, I would concede some but not all ground. But in terms of human interactions and the liberal spirit, my support goes with Tuttle. For instance, before Tuttle came to Minneapolis, he had been pastor in a church in Rochester, New York in the 1850's. It was the eloquent Tuttle who stood up alongside Frederick Douglas, daring to speak on behalf of abolition of slavery despite an angry crowd that had gathered. It was Tuttle who had also befriended Susan B. Anthony, and it was in his church that future meetings of the national meetings for the women's suffrage movement. He often said he learned from these two striking reformists that religion has an important role in forming the society in which we live.

What often is understated however is the sheer force of his conviction, and the eloquence that convinced people to behave in ways they might not ordinarily. In his congregation one found the first mayor of Minneapolis as well as the first senator. A member of the church who created the park system that is still part of Minneapolis' shining glory. The University, the Symphony, Lakewood Cemetery, the first playground for children, the list goes on. These people included manufacturing giants, founders of companies like Pillsbury and General Mills. No one can drive the streets of this city without seeing their names scattered about.

But here is a reality check. I'm not at all sure that without a Tuttle to encourage them, we would have seen all this altruism. From his pulpit he constantly reminded his flock that to whom much is given, much is expected. From his point of view, it was just part of one's responsibility in a world where God loves all people. After all Universalism is about universal salvation, and so there is a universal responsibility for those less fortunate.

James Tuttle had a way to see the greater ability in others. It was he who sought out Charles Loring, who went on to do well in business and build our parks system. Tuttle was very much enamored by nature, and the beauty that is the gift we all are given at birth. He talks about responsibility for those gifts as well.

See what I learned in this study was that James Tuttle had the poet's heart, and it was that heart that led great people to do greater things. He wrote a wonderful sermon after our church was burned to the ground and had been rebuilt. It was how we were lifted from the ashes, and how all of nature does this regularly. We live, we die, but from the ashes of death comes life renewed. Even he reminds us, the mythical Phoenix was born of ashes. In that sermon, very agrarian and environmentally friendly when all was not that way, he said:

"There is no death! The dust we tread
Shall change beneath the summer showers
To golden grain and mellow fruit
Or rainbow tinted flowers.

The granite rocks disorganize
To feed the hungry moss they bear
The forest leaves drink daily life
From out of the viewless air."

Under James Tuttle, ordinary men were transported to loftier ideals.

So compare now to Shutter. He could preach a sermon well too. Clearly he was very well educated and a prolific writer. Indeed much of what we know of Tuttle comes from Marion Shutter. Still there was a critical difference between the two men, and it is that difference that leads me to my conclusions. First in fairness however, I need to share my own bias. I believe, now and then, there has been class distinctions and it is the nature of many in the wealthier classes towards greed and power. These were after all manufacturing giants in a time when the lot of the worker was not all that great. Part of the liberal spirit, an important part, is finding ways to lift up those who may have been left behind for a host of reasons. Adequate pay, job protections for instance.

Shutter right from the beginning seemed to enjoy the company of the wealthy, using his pastoral presence in my opinion to serve them rather than to speak to that higher liberal calling. His sermons about Communism, his anger with labor unions, indeed at one point labor marched in front of our church because our pastor came to church in a chauffer driven car, one who was not unionized. He was outraged and truly embraced his role as enemy of labor. So I asked myself, how liberal is it to have a limousine drive you to work? Hardly what today we would embrace as "the liberal spirit." The more I read of his work, the more I encountered a man driven by insurmountable ego. Just today I read an incredibly self serving biography of Marion Shutter, written in third person by Marion Shutter.

Not to deny the good he did. It was his wife who helped form the Unity Settlement House which was one of the early social service agencies serving Minneapolis and later was in fact turned over to the city after many years. He was an integral part of the church for many years and an eloquent spokesperson for religious liberalism. It was Marion Shutter who went to the other city pastors and raised money to build the chapel at Fort Snelling.

But of the two, Dr. James H. Tuttle seemed to be the more human, the more passionate, the more loving of the two. He was the poet, the motivator, the one who led others to reach beyond themselves to something higher. He even conceded readily when he realized he was probably wrong on the evolution question. I guess I just like people who can admit they are wrong. I also think that James Tuttle breathed into First Universalist the spirit that still guides it today. The liberal spirit.

Today, Peace, and a Prayer

Today. That is what I have. Today. I've got this ongoing never ending hacking cough that is my curse for this lifetime. Chronic bronchitis exacerbated by asthma and it makes me weary. Still I'm blest. I've got a mind and the capacity to sit up and share and live on, chronic or not.

Today. That is what I have. Today. Out to the back Lucy and I went. She sniffed around a bit, did her business, and then found a good spot in the sun to recline. I harvested a few more zucchini, then gave the plants a bit of water before coming back up. Tonight we eat the rest of a tasty pasta dish I made with homemade zucchini sauce, meat, and my own blend of seasonings. It's good enough to eat twice without qualms.

Today. That is what I have. Today. I feel alarmed. Our nation is reaching new levels of division and hatred. Melissa Harris Lacewell shares some racist mail she received. Town halls turning into shouting sessions rather than reasoned discourse. It also makes me sad. How can we harbor such racism and anger? It's beyond me. Do we find ways to confront the disruptors so that reasoned discourse can take place? Germany did not and the result was, well you get my drift.

Today. That is what I have. Today. What part do I play in division? How can I better strive for open ended listening and a willingness to hear that other viewpoint, especially when different from my own. I don't have to agree. But there does seem to be an obligation to listen as well as to give.

Today is a day to strive for peace. As much as I wish I could, those other things fall outside my control. Oh I can confront racism and bigotry, I participate in the larger society, but for that person who is led to simply disrupt, to hate. I have no power over their decision.

There is a Christian hymn I dearly love. Or at least one line of it.

"Let there be peace on earth, and let it begin with me."

Perhaps becoming the peace I desire is the most evangelical action I can take. It's never easy to do when all the external pressures are there. The concern, the health issues, the voices of no screaming in my ears from all directions. But our world does not exist in a vacuum. Buddha did not teach in a tranquil world, Jesus lived in truly tumultuous times. So it must be in the search for peace.

Today. That is what I have. Today.

A friend who works in a prison ministry came across this poem. It is a version of the Dayenu, a Passover piece. I don't have an attribution for it, but it reflects my mood today:

IT WOULD BE ENOUGH
If morning will come and discover us
If the heart will fill up again, it is enough for us
If, in the warm sun, wheat fields will ripen
If we break our hunger and thirst
It is enough for us

And if a bit of compassion still remains
And we have a reason to be happy
It is enough for us
It is enough for us enough, enough
It is enough for us enough, enough
If we say a good word, that will overwrite the hatred
If we will know a bit of peace of mind
It is enough for us
If we still find love, if we will vow again
If we feel that hope is not lost
It is enough for us
And if a bit of compassion still remains
And we have a reason to be happy
And if the next generation will be happy
It is enough for us
And we will not ask for more
If we stand up and not be afraid
To extend our hand again
If we fulfil only one dream
It is enough for us
If we will solve the only riddle
If we see it is not a fairy tale
It is enough for us

My memories of Illinois

Okay, the photo is when I was 6 years old in Tyler, in this case pushing a stroller with my brother in it, but the memories are three years earlier in Olney, Illinois. See that was my earliest recollection about my "difference."

We lived in an apartment, a two story house in Olney, Illinois. Our landlady took a room upstairs, and shared our kitchen, but mostly the bottom floor was ours. I'm always a bit surprised at how much I actually do recall from those days. The landlady had her own toys that had belonged to her children. She often brought them down for me to play with. Occasionally I would wander up to her room, only to be met with by a scolding, first by her and then later by Momma. "My room is off limits child. Go downstairs to play!" She would tell momma and so came the second scolding. If she remembered to tell Daddy when he came home from work on the weekends, then a third one was in order as well.

Two vivid memories of this house were both about animals. One was the white squirrels, a genetic diversification causing the squirrels in Olney to be white rather than the usual grey or black. Not to be confused with albino squirrels either. There was a ladder built up the tree outside that the squirrels ran up and down. They were so tame and were protected by law. Those squirrels would eat out of my hand much to my delight. I'd try to pet them, but Momma warned me they might bite. Once I climbed up that tree only to be stranded there. Mom noticed I was missing and ran out and gulped down a scream lest I be frightened and fall. Daddy came home about that time, and his assistant climbed up the board ladder and rescued me. Momma was yelling and hugging me all at the same time.

The other memory was the rats. We had coal heating, the old fashioned kind where the coal was actually shoveled into a steamer in the basement. One winter it got dreadfully cold, and large sewer rats made their way into the house via the space around heating ducts. Well one night I walked into the kitchen and was reaching for some food on the table, suddenly I saw the rat sitting there eyeing me up and down as a possible meal. Goodness I screamed bloody murder. To this day, I am imprinted with the memory so vivid and am deathly afraid of rats. When the conscious mind can catch up, then I can deal with them, but don't let one surprise me.

Still another time, Momma had the screen door latched and was in the kitchen working away. She loved to sing quietly as she worked back then. Funny thing is, I'm the same way, though I am no way as quiet. So I survey the situation, and push a small chair over to the door, climb up on the chair, unlatch the door, then headed across the very busy street in front of our house to the gasoline station down the street. They saw me coming across their drive and ran out and snatched me up. One of the guys there always teased and played with me which is why I wanted to go visit in the first place. He sat their entertaining me while asking where my Momma was. Meanwhile the other picked up the phone and called Momma. Back then it was not uncommon for the service station folks to know their customers, and indeed in Tyler our service station owner was also best friends with my parents. "So where is your child Mrs. Wicks?"

"In the living room, why?"

"Here, say hello to your Mommy."

"Mommy?"

No response. Half a minute later, she was coming through the front door. She thanked them profusely, then scolded me promising if I ever pulled such a stunt again she'd wear my butt out good.

One other memory before I get to the main event. Momma had raked the yard and was burning the leaves at the curb. I was wandering around on the grass nearby and put the basket over my head. Yeah, I know, stupid move. I wandered towards the curb and stumbled and fell into the fire. So my shirt is on fire, and I'm running full force screaming. Behind me Momma is running trying to catch me. She throws me to the ground and puts out the fire with her coat. Well the hospital was right across the street and the burns were minor. But sheesh you don't forget being on fire.

But here is what I recalled when I began this blog entry today. I used to play next door with a girl named Mary Jane. We always had fun, whether making mud pies or doing tea with her dolls. On one particular day, I announce I am the Momma and she agrees to be the Daddy. So I slip into her best Sunday dress and we are sitting having tea. Here comes Momma up the stairs and she is talking to Mary Jane's mom. "Get ready, time to come home!" She rounds the turn and sees me all dressed up in Sunday's finest! Her face and demeanor change. "Get OUT of that dress and c'mon." I see a look in her eyes. It is one of fear, something Momma rarely ever displayed. Of course I was too young to know that then.

So a couple of days later, she is tucking me in. "That's my little boy."

"Momma. I'm a girl." There is that same look of fear which confused me completely.

"No you are not! You are a boy and that's that! I'll have no more of this foolishness!

That was the day all of us began trying to butch me up. They gave me Christmas presents of cowboy stuff, footballs, anything he-man. I played with it out of a certain obligation. Still the notion that I was a girl never ever went away, though I sure tried hard enough over many years. I butched up and talked deep even before my voice changed and really tried to be that manly man everyone wanted. In East Texas I adopted the accent, partly out of self defense because I was "different" and the kids were brutal. As puberty neared, I realized I was gay too. By then I really knew I was in deep doo, living where we did. So the act continued for many years longer. Best starring role in a gender she does not fit...

Telling all this, I simply must bring some fairness to my parents. I was 3 years old in 1950. That was before most Americans even had heard of gender identity issues. It simply was another time, and the possibility that their child might be one of those homosexual deviants must have been truly horrifying. This was before gay liberation. I truly believe today they were just looking out for me, no matter how frustrating it all was for me back then.

Before Skip died, he looked through my old photos, and was struck by the sadness in my childhood eyes. That was true of course, though not the whole truth. It's easy to portray the negative parts of our lives as if they all were that tragic. But I still had a childhood, played with my friends. I think the really oppressive sadness did not show up until around the third grade. Even then, I could resort to the world of imagination and find some joy. We humans really are very adaptive I think.

Still when I am in a retrospective mood, I wonder out loud, what would it have been if they understood transsexuality (and being gay) and I could have lived honestly and without fear in those days? How would it have been different? I suspect quite a bit so. But that is for another person to learn, in a different time.

Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

So most mornings I get up and immediately or soon do a blog entry. But this was not most mornings. To begin with, a lethargy had swept over me and simply getting out of bed was a task of its own. But out of bed I must, because of an assignment for our church history project, so bleary and somewhat numb, off to church we went.

So what does a person do when lethargy has already seen? Well of course go eat a huge plate of heart clogging chorizo con juevos at Sonny's where they specialize in southwestern diner cuisine. If I were simply dragging before, well that completed the job. By the time we got home, I could only knock out a couple of necessary tasks, then crash for a nap.

I simply hate days like this. Garbage taken out. Check. Dishes all washed? Robin while I slept baked some bread sticks and there was a bit of a mess. Okay, check. Now it is after 8 PM and the day is gone. Tomorrow is laundry day, but I still should be able to get some writing in then. For the rest of the evening though mostly mindless trivia, washing my mind clean of a wasted day.