March 10 – “On long nights and bad jokes”

We remembered to set our clocks forward last night.  In fact ii usually have that task done at least by around 9 p.m.  But not last night.  For some insane reason we got hooked into a show on TV about two guys in Boston who buy old homes, renovate them and resell them.  Last night they were trying to expand their business by letting their two apprentices take over the renovations.  Problem was, they wouldn’t let them take it over.  They kept showing up and chewing them out.  Not that I blame them for being concerned with how their money was being spent.  They were finding things like a dead squirrel in the attic attached to the electrical line he had tried to chew through.  That had to be a pretty gross find.  The young guys finally came through, though, and as a result of their success the bosses had to dress in drag and walk in a Halloween parade through downtown Salem, Massachusetts.  Riveting drama, I know.  Point is, the show didn’t end until 11 p.m.  That meant it was already midnight.  Yikes.  I used to be able to do this whole late night, early morning thing, but I’m getting old here.  I even set the alarm when I went to bed to make sure I wasn’t the one at church who shows up late. 

Of course Mom chose last night for a marathon of antics as well.  She had Chris up just about every thirty minutes or so all night long.  Chris finally moved over to the spare bedroom again so I could get some sleep, not that she was able to spend much time in there.  I heard them numerous times throughout the night as Chris gently convinced her to return to bed.  I did manage to make my wake up call, though.  And as I was preparing me some breakfast Chris walked in and informed me that the last roaming adventure had ended at 4:58.  She was headed back into our bedroom to try to get a few hours’ sleep before I had to leave.  What a lady.

I did have one adventure during the day yesterday.  I went to a funeral.  The mother of a high school classmate died, and the service was at the Episcopal church I grew up in.  I was quite curious to see if there would be anyone there I knew, and I also wanted to experience a service led by the new priest, their first female.  The priest did an admirable job.  She was assisted by the guy who had been rector there for several years before.  And speaking of admirable jobs, I was complemented on – of all things – my singing.  It was the guy sitting behind me.  And guess who he turned out to be?  The pastor of West Isle Presbyterian Church.  A Baptist pastor and a Presbyterian minister meeting at an Episcopalian funeral.  Sounds like the beginning of a bad joke.  But, hey, I guess I got lucky and hit a few right notes to How Great Thou Art. 

Psalms 71:5 says, “For you have been my hope, O Sovereign Lord, my confidence since my youth.”

Father, walk with the family as they deal with grief.  Amen.