The pilot of a Piper Cherokee on his way from Tampa to Miami with two passengers had made an emergency landing on the interstate several hours before I was approaching the scene of the landing.
Because of the cranes and tow-trucks, poli
ce cars and emergency vehicles working to extract the pieces of the plane from where it had been moved to the middle of the six lanes (three going south, three going north,) there was a traffic slow-down similar what happens during a rush hour commute in the Washington, D.C. area.
(Two miles every forty-five minutes or so . . .)
(Maybe you heard aout or read about this accident in the media?)
Hmmmmm . . .
I had to stop from going 70-something to zip in about eight car lengths that were between me and the dark blue Toyota sedan in front of me and it seemed like a miracle to stop within about six inches of its rear bumper, and for no one to run into me.
(Could imagine angels intervening, and a swift sliver of a mini-series of my life flashed through my mind and spirit, but you know how I can exaggerate at times!)
A little of the effects of whiplash and some sore muscles and joints were left over.
(Trying not to whine, just describing . . .)
Then there was an unfixable plumbing problem in the little ol' "Mom and Pop" motel on the beach I was staying in, so I had to move out of the place.
Was blessed to spend Friday night with my sweet sister and her family.
Then was also blessed to be seen at the Bay Pines Veterans Administration Med Center where a sweet lady doctor originally from India was kind enough to subscribe some prescriptions for pain, tight muscles and migraines.
I arrived back here on Longboat Key to my folks' house in time to rush my Dad and my brother George over to the Beachouse Restaurant on Anna Maria Island while the sun was still about seventy degrees above the horizon.
We were blessed to be together to have some delicious food with really good service from a waiter named Matt while we enjoyed a lovely, lovely sunset together.
This was the third time since May that Dad and I have tried to watch a sunset together there. But storm clouds along the western horizon of the Gulf of Mexico blocked our view of what seems to be the firey chariot of the sun making its swift journey below the sharp line between sky and sea.
(The third time's the charm, as they say, ot maybe we just needed George to be there, too. He kept stepping out every few minutes to digitally record the sights for posterity's sake -- you might see the results on FB if you are a friend or relative of his.)
Was blessed to be able to take the meds and find relief from the symptoms as the sounds of summer wafted into my hearing from the living room. Dad and George were watching a baseball game.
I woke up when the sounds changed as they prepared to head to bed. Got some water from the fridge and kissed them both "goodnight" again.
Grandpa Georgie had sent me his latest photos od who he calls the most beautiful and adorable baby in the world, sweet Evie Alani, and of course a grandpa's eyes see very, very clearly and there is no disputing that claim.
(I make the same proud boasts about my beautiful and adorable grand babies, and it is always the height of a special kind of veracity, isn't it?)
*twinkle*
Changing the subject . . .
We're awaiting the much heralded coming of tropical storm/hurricane Isaac with lots of interest.
One of the most common past-times for any place where hurricanes and typhoons are possible is, during the season, carefully keeping track of them and battening down the hatches and/or boarding up and sand-bagging buildings, hoarding water and food, and/or getting da heck outta dere aheada dem . . .
(In case you don't know, the storms are usually called "hurricanes" if they originate in the South Atlantic, but they are designated "typhoons" if they are birthed in the big, not-always-so peaceful Pacific.)
I used to fly on some of the C-130 Hercules "Hurricane Hunters" back when I was on active duty in the Air Force -- but never through any hurricanes or typhoons.
Sometimes those types of aircraft were used for other missions and when I was on them we were exercising the potential for horrible man-made disasters.
Right now the late August palm fronds are intermittently rustling on the tops of the trees outside the carport, some peepers are peeping, too.
I hope the local masked marauders won't get into the in-ground heavy-metal-covered zinc/aluminum (?) garbage can again.
The raccoons successfully feasted on some baby back BBQ rib bones they discovered the other night. No matter what kinds of anti-raccoon security system people around here employ, we are defeated from time to time by the oh so clever critters.
Several years ago some were known to have rabies, so especially people walking their little doggies in the pre-dawn and post-dusk hours were very aware of the dangers.
This summer the over-55 complex our folks retired to nearly twenty years go had its streets re-asphalted, and a new attractive brick road entrance-way was done.
The whole project took much longer than expected because of some earlier tropical storms.
The corn belt and the Rockies . . . Texas and Oklahoma . . . and elsewhere . . . could have used some of the rain we've been getting all summer. But Florida has been suffering a drought off and on for the last ten or so years, too -- sometimes for a three or more year stretch.
Signs and wonders . . . I wonder as I wander . . . not all who wander are lost . . . lost in space . . .
George said at dinner that our friend who was the niece of the first man on the moon, Neil Armstrong, said to wink at the it for him.
Of course Armstrong was there along with Buzz Aldrin while Michael Collins waited to retrieve them, orbiting around la luna, out of contact on the dark side every so often while we collectively held our breath, so relieved each time to hear him re-connect with Houston each time.
Somebody had to do it.
But a twenty-two-year-old from the ancient city of Nizhni Novgorod, Russia, who is staying at the same lodgings as mine said he didn't believe we ever really did that!
He claimed to be an atheist, too.
And after I had told him that I was a pastor and had been in mission in to former Soviets immigrants in the US as well as in Russia, in Ukraine and in Kazakhstan -- all of which he says are still part of Russia . . . he said he very much wanted to talk about philosophy and religion.
So we had some interesting discussions as we tooled around the area in his late-model rented black Mustang convertible.
The sun set in a glorious but gentle fanfare across the rivers, and the vibrant half moon rose. The balmy late August night with dreamy scattered wisps of ephemeral clouds delicately adorning the cheeky moon and the shy, freshly-appearing stars enveloped us.
Since the mid to late '70s I have been encountering people in their 20s from the Soviet Union or from former Soviet republics. They have afforded me a look through a small window into their culture and world view.
The latest one, after coming up from the beach from his first attempt to surf also told the desk clerk of the little "Mom and Pop" motel that for him surfing was like trying to lead a cow through snow drifts.
(The desk clerk told me that she is originally from Hawaii and has never lived where there is snow, but she was charmed by the image. Obviously the young man has been spending more time in the surf rather than riding on it, and he expressed the hope that his flights back to Russia would be delayed by the coming tropical storm/hurricane do he could try the "real" waves.)
(Please pray for him if you feel led. Duke Kahanamoka might be looking down on him.)
(Or St. Sergei of Radonezh.)
(Or both of them.)
My kids and I have lived both in Alaska during winters when there was an accumulation of over eighty inches of snow JUST from late January through mid-May, never mind mid-September through the end of the Orthodox Christmas season AND on the beaches of the Florida Space Coast. So when I told Krista what my new young Russian friend had said, she totally understood, gasped, and laughed indulgenty.
Of course.
Some time I will write about the comments I remember about cultural differences expressed by the twenty-something kids from central Europe and Eurasia.
Who is more sure of anything than six year olds or young twenty-something (or so)kids?
I hope tonight or whenever you read this that you are sure you are loved beyond measure, time, and comparison.
Cheers!
;-)
(Two miles every forty-five minutes or so . . .)
(Maybe you heard aout or read about this accident in the media?)
Hmmmmm . . .
I had to stop from going 70-something to zip in about eight car lengths that were between me and the dark blue Toyota sedan in front of me and it seemed like a miracle to stop within about six inches of its rear bumper, and for no one to run into me.
(Could imagine angels intervening, and a swift sliver of a mini-series of my life flashed through my mind and spirit, but you know how I can exaggerate at times!)
A little of the effects of whiplash and some sore muscles and joints were left over.
(Trying not to whine, just describing . . .)
Then there was an unfixable plumbing problem in the little ol' "Mom and Pop" motel on the beach I was staying in, so I had to move out of the place.
Was blessed to spend Friday night with my sweet sister and her family.
Then was also blessed to be seen at the Bay Pines Veterans Administration Med Center where a sweet lady doctor originally from India was kind enough to subscribe some prescriptions for pain, tight muscles and migraines.
I arrived back here on Longboat Key to my folks' house in time to rush my Dad and my brother George over to the Beachouse Restaurant on Anna Maria Island while the sun was still about seventy degrees above the horizon.
We were blessed to be together to have some delicious food with really good service from a waiter named Matt while we enjoyed a lovely, lovely sunset together.
This was the third time since May that Dad and I have tried to watch a sunset together there. But storm clouds along the western horizon of the Gulf of Mexico blocked our view of what seems to be the firey chariot of the sun making its swift journey below the sharp line between sky and sea.
(The third time's the charm, as they say, ot maybe we just needed George to be there, too. He kept stepping out every few minutes to digitally record the sights for posterity's sake -- you might see the results on FB if you are a friend or relative of his.)
Was blessed to be able to take the meds and find relief from the symptoms as the sounds of summer wafted into my hearing from the living room. Dad and George were watching a baseball game.
I woke up when the sounds changed as they prepared to head to bed. Got some water from the fridge and kissed them both "goodnight" again.
Grandpa Georgie had sent me his latest photos od who he calls the most beautiful and adorable baby in the world, sweet Evie Alani, and of course a grandpa's eyes see very, very clearly and there is no disputing that claim.
(I make the same proud boasts about my beautiful and adorable grand babies, and it is always the height of a special kind of veracity, isn't it?)
*twinkle*
Changing the subject . . .
We're awaiting the much heralded coming of tropical storm/hurricane Isaac with lots of interest.
One of the most common past-times for any place where hurricanes and typhoons are possible is, during the season, carefully keeping track of them and battening down the hatches and/or boarding up and sand-bagging buildings, hoarding water and food, and/or getting da heck outta dere aheada dem . . .
(In case you don't know, the storms are usually called "hurricanes" if they originate in the South Atlantic, but they are designated "typhoons" if they are birthed in the big, not-always-so peaceful Pacific.)
I used to fly on some of the C-130 Hercules "Hurricane Hunters" back when I was on active duty in the Air Force -- but never through any hurricanes or typhoons.
Sometimes those types of aircraft were used for other missions and when I was on them we were exercising the potential for horrible man-made disasters.
Right now the late August palm fronds are intermittently rustling on the tops of the trees outside the carport, some peepers are peeping, too.
I hope the local masked marauders won't get into the in-ground heavy-metal-covered zinc/aluminum (?) garbage can again.
The raccoons successfully feasted on some baby back BBQ rib bones they discovered the other night. No matter what kinds of anti-raccoon security system people around here employ, we are defeated from time to time by the oh so clever critters.
Several years ago some were known to have rabies, so especially people walking their little doggies in the pre-dawn and post-dusk hours were very aware of the dangers.
This summer the over-55 complex our folks retired to nearly twenty years go had its streets re-asphalted, and a new attractive brick road entrance-way was done.
The whole project took much longer than expected because of some earlier tropical storms.
The corn belt and the Rockies . . . Texas and Oklahoma . . . and elsewhere . . . could have used some of the rain we've been getting all summer. But Florida has been suffering a drought off and on for the last ten or so years, too -- sometimes for a three or more year stretch.
Signs and wonders . . . I wonder as I wander . . . not all who wander are lost . . . lost in space . . .
George said at dinner that our friend who was the niece of the first man on the moon, Neil Armstrong, said to wink at the it for him.
Of course Armstrong was there along with Buzz Aldrin while Michael Collins waited to retrieve them, orbiting around la luna, out of contact on the dark side every so often while we collectively held our breath, so relieved each time to hear him re-connect with Houston each time.
Somebody had to do it.
But a twenty-two-year-old from the ancient city of Nizhni Novgorod, Russia, who is staying at the same lodgings as mine said he didn't believe we ever really did that!
He claimed to be an atheist, too.
And after I had told him that I was a pastor and had been in mission in to former Soviets immigrants in the US as well as in Russia, in Ukraine and in Kazakhstan -- all of which he says are still part of Russia . . . he said he very much wanted to talk about philosophy and religion.
So we had some interesting discussions as we tooled around the area in his late-model rented black Mustang convertible.
The sun set in a glorious but gentle fanfare across the rivers, and the vibrant half moon rose. The balmy late August night with dreamy scattered wisps of ephemeral clouds delicately adorning the cheeky moon and the shy, freshly-appearing stars enveloped us.
Since the mid to late '70s I have been encountering people in their 20s from the Soviet Union or from former Soviet republics. They have afforded me a look through a small window into their culture and world view.
The latest one, after coming up from the beach from his first attempt to surf also told the desk clerk of the little "Mom and Pop" motel that for him surfing was like trying to lead a cow through snow drifts.
(The desk clerk told me that she is originally from Hawaii and has never lived where there is snow, but she was charmed by the image. Obviously the young man has been spending more time in the surf rather than riding on it, and he expressed the hope that his flights back to Russia would be delayed by the coming tropical storm/hurricane do he could try the "real" waves.)
(Please pray for him if you feel led. Duke Kahanamoka might be looking down on him.)
(Or St. Sergei of Radonezh.)
(Or both of them.)
My kids and I have lived both in Alaska during winters when there was an accumulation of over eighty inches of snow JUST from late January through mid-May, never mind mid-September through the end of the Orthodox Christmas season AND on the beaches of the Florida Space Coast. So when I told Krista what my new young Russian friend had said, she totally understood, gasped, and laughed indulgenty.
Of course.
Some time I will write about the comments I remember about cultural differences expressed by the twenty-something kids from central Europe and Eurasia.
Who is more sure of anything than six year olds or young twenty-something (or so)kids?
I hope tonight or whenever you read this that you are sure you are loved beyond measure, time, and comparison.
Cheers!
;-)
Kathleen Ware Harris © 2013
kwharris777@gmail.com
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