Twenty Minutes

But it’s still in handwriting in my journal.

And I don’t expect you to try to read this. You can if you want, but don’t. It’ll be meaningless. The page before this one is better. But it’s too personal about prayer and things and nobody’s business.

I did have the strangest communication by text today. I was asked if I was going to show up for dinner, “I’m making steak.” But I had no idea who of my friends would expect to make steak for us on Wednesday evening. Probably not on any evening, for that matter.

“You have the wrong number.” I texted after asking who this was. This did not deter them. “Well if you’re ever in Manhattan…” Finally I blocked and deleted the conversation.

If I ever get to go to New York City, I want to go hear the Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir. I would much rather do that than have steak with a stranger in Manhattan. Wouldn’t you?

Francis sent us a picture of herself washing the high windows of her tall wall. She’s crouched on the ledge a million feet off the floor. Makes me cringe. I couldn’t look.

Elv is busily selling snowblowers he had blown through on the marketplace this week. One down, one to go. I like when he gets in the mood to clean the back lots and move on. Where does it all come from, anyway?

Till next time, cheers.