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Ah, vacation! Relaxation and rest. Sleeping in till double-digits. Perfect! If only that was what I was doing. Sleeping in? No, I've now been programmed to wake up at 7am. Blast. I try to sleep longer, but never manage more than 8am. Blast blast. And relaxing? Well, no. There's work to be done for the coming Faculty of Divinity orientation week, articles to write for The Living Church and applications for the Diocese of Niagara and for financial aid. Oy. The good news is that I've actually made progress through the pile, and that my fellow co-head has found us a lovely Tall Ship on which to hold our orientation week dinner. For those who pray, I'd love the evening of Sept. 8th to be nice and dry. The current focus of attention is next year's classes. What to take? I sort of shot myself in the foot last year by taking an interesting but, strictly speaking, useless class instead of something more to the point. I do have to defend the choice here...it was one of those classes that kept the year alive for me and really grabbed my interest - the architecture of worship. I've always loved buildings and spaces, and it was a beautiful building that brought me back to church...well, God working through a beautiful building. So I have to honour that passion in me. Unfortunately, that class ran at the same time as one that I need to graduate. The result is that I'm taking that class this term, which is throwing off some other...why do you want to read this? You don't, do you? O.K., I'll shut it. In other news, the store front that used to be a museum has turned into a front for the local drug trade. Well, I don't know that, but the place is so full of broken garbage which nobody would, or is ever seen to, buy that I can't imagine it stays open any other way. The proprietor is an...earthy...creature, a carny without a carnival, for whom bathing is a foreign concept. Stand downwind and smell the patchouli. Every day he drags piles of garbage (I can call his wares nothing else...I think he salvages his merchandise from the Salvation Army's garbage tip) out to the sidewalk, there to create a pile. Really. It's a pile of garbage, all heaped up. I can just hear him telling his friends, "Yeah, it's like a work of art. Little works of art, like this Las Vegas ash tray, all assembled into one big work of art, different every day. Wow. Hey, pass the bong." Once his heap is created he perches himself among the trash, there to welcome the steady stream of friends who talk a lot and buy not at all...at least they don't buy from the pile. What they might carry away in Ziploc baggies is beyond me. Sigh. I bet that guy sleeps till double digits. |
