(Posted April 18, 2010)
I’ve been around for over five decades now. I’ve seen my share of family, friends, and loved ones pass on. There’s a sadness to this old Earth sometimes, a sadness that faith, even the faith of the strongest believers, cannot seem to dent. And then, there are days like today when all there is, for a brief, fleeting snippet of time, is perfection.
My wife had to leave early to pick up her mom and sister to go to a funeral in the Twin Cities. My mother-in-law, who is nearly eighty-five, lost her last sibling this past month and the memorial service was being held in one of the Minneapolis suburbs. Merc, the aforementioned mother of my wife, doesn’t drive. Never has. Never learned how. So for her to pay her last respects to her brother, she needed a lift. Diane, the oldest of my wife’s sisters, came along for the ride. I bid my wife a safe trip sometime around seven-thirty this morning. Even when I had to jump start my Pacifica in my PJs so Rene’ could leave (the lights were left on), that minor distraction didn’t dampen the feeling that today was going to be special.
Jack and I made it to our church, a white steepled country style building run by Episcopalians, of which we are two. He behaved in Sunday School. I said my prayers upstairs during the service. We both took communion. Then it was off to Best Buy to see if our DVD recorder/VHS player was repairable. The thing is only two years old but of course, it’s out of warranty.
“It’ll cost you $150 at the very least, plus parts,” the service guy, a kid really, told me after he took a look at the thing. The message was clear: Help the economy; buy a new unit; toss the old one in the nearest creek. Of course, I don’t toss anything into creeks. I recycle electronics like the good little environmentalist that I am. Still, I really would have rather fixed the old one than bought new. And the worst of it? The only place that had a combination unit in my price range was the evil empire. Wal-Mart. Shit. But even a visit into the bowels of Satanic consumerism couldn’t deter the feeling that, damn it, this was going to be a great day.
When we got home, Jack and I caught some lunch, a bit of the Twins game on television, a nap (OK, that was just me napping, Jack kept watching the game), and I found out that the new DVD works just fine. Then the glory of the afternoon, the sun hanging high in the cloudless sky, a light warm breeze blowing across our field, took over. Jack and I hopped on our mountain bikes and rode up to our friends the McVeans on Island Lake, a good ten mile round trip, my first of the year on a bike. Even the sore butt didn’t diminish the beauty of the ride.
Back home, we played some catch. I hit flies and grounders under the late afternoon sun to my twelve year old boy, and he took some batting practice, proving he can still put the bat on the ball. Then it was time to heat up some tater tot hotdish Rene’ had left for us and, our tummies full, the sun starting to decline, read the Sunday paper on the covered front porch of our home on the banks of the Cloquet River.
It was, despite the battery, despite the guy at Best Buy, despite Wal-Mart, despite the sore cheeks, a great day in northern Minnesota.
Amen.
Mark
