In a world without Star Trek...

(Friday morning, 9am.; there's a gentle knocking on my front door.  When I answer it, there's a young woman there.  Very attractive, Afro-American, mid-twenties.)

HER: Good morning sir, am I disturbing you?

ME:  Good morning, not at all.  Can I help you?

HER:  Yes--hee hee!  I moved into #412 this week and wanted to get my wash done.  Steiner told me to pick an empty block of time on the calendar in the washroom, but there's no one using it right now, and your apartment number is on there for this morning.  Do you need it?

ME:  Actually, I'm 402.  My neighbor Dee is 401, that's her block of time right now but she isn't home.

HER:  Do you think she would mind?

ME:  Well, she left a little while ago to run a pan of noodles up to the Catholic Church on Lincoln Avenue for their Friday fish fry.  She may want to use it when she gets back.  But I don't think anyone else is scheduled on there after her today.

HER:  Okay, thank you!  I like your door sign, is that Jewish?  I love the Jews!

ME:   Thank you... no it's not Jewish.  It's uh, Vulcan.

HER:  Oh.. Balkan.  What country are they from?

ME:   I think that's a bunch of countries but not Balkan.  VUL-can. 

HER:  Oh, Vulcan!  What country are they from?

ME:  Um... a tv show, Star Trek.  You know, Mister Spock.  He was a Vulcan.

HER:   I don't, I'm sorry!  But you seem very gentle!

ME:  Ha, okay... thanks, and nice to meet you.  Welcome to the Tiffany.

Later, after Dee comes home.  Another knocking on my door.  This one is pretty loud.

ME:  Hi Dee, what's up?

HER:  Can I use your phone?  I let my daughter borrow my phone up at Assumption, and the ding-a-ling left and took it with her!

ME:  Sure--here ya go.  Just tap the phone icon on the bottom.

(Dee calls her daughter and tells her she needs her phone back right away for her pills.)

HER:  Here y'go, thanks.

ME:  You're welcome.   Hope you have a nice--

HER:  Why do ya got a man on your phone?  None of my business.  Is he a soccer player?

ME:  No, that's Captain Kirk.

HER:  Did you say Catherine?  You know I wear a hearing aid.

ME:  CAPTAIN.  Captain Kirk.

HER:  Captain Cook?

ME:  No Dee, forget it.  He's a character on Star Trek.

HER:  Sorry, I don't watch the Disney Channel.  My granddaughter does though.

😢😢😢

Soup Thursdays aren't for everyone, and patience isn't a virtue--it's a necessity

Here was my Thursday dinner.  A crusty roll and bowl of Mexican Style Street Corn Soup.  It was very tasty with several cheeses and jalapenos, and the can suggested I add a dollop of sour cream so I did.  I never thought I'd be eating Campbell's again, but I do like their Home Style soups.

I eat soup every Thursday.  This began a couple years ago, when I would eat a light dinner on Thursdays because I did a weekly weigh-in Friday mornings.  (It's no longer official, but I still do those Friday weigh-ins.)

Anyway, Wednesday night I'm talking to a friend on the phone while looking at the cans of soup in my cupboard and trying to decide.  She said "Why must you have soup on Thursdays?  You know what--never mind."

What's the problem here?   I said "I don't have to have it only on Thursdays.  On Monday I had a BLT with butternut squash soup for dinner.  But Thursday will still be Soup Thursday.  It doesn't have to be one flavor, one week it could be a bowl of Tomato Bisque and a grilled pepper jack cheese sandwich, the next week a ham sandwich and broccoli soup."  

All she said was "Okay Sheldon."  I admit it, I've become a creature of habit, particularly while waiting for these long covid symptoms to abate.  I'll admit something else; Fridays are Fish Fridays.  That's not during Lent, that's year round.  It might be fried haddock one week, baked flounder the next.  But Thursdays are Soup Thursdays and Fridays are Fish Fridays.  I don't understand why this would bother anyone, do you?  

Part 2:  These things take time... too much time

This past Sunday after finishing that blog about my childhood church, I was eager to get cleaned up and head outside.  We were having our first day of blue skies and warm temps in months, and I wanted some.  But while putting on my shoes, I began "smelling covid", that strong odor of burnt hair and diesel fuel & baked beans.  (That means a flare up is fast approaching.)  I wound up turning everything off, going into the bedroom and shutting the door.  I laid in there until almost 5pm.

This has been a daily thing since my big relapse in September.  A mild burning in the eyes and face in the morning,  it rises and falls during the day, settles down around 10pm.  But every couple days it's a crazy-ass flareup day; I honestly wonder if this will ever go away.  It did last summer.

Monday morning, my barber sent me an article about long covid and "micro clots" in the blood, which scientists say are causing the long term symptoms.  It was a scary but interesting read and meant a lot that Roe took the time to read the article and send it to me.

Anyway, after getting up and starting my Sunday dinner (cheesy rice with roasted green peppers & baked chicken) I turned on the tv to catch the next episode of "Pioneer Woman".  I began watching her cooking show a couple years ago with Season 1, Episode 1 and vowed to watch every show.  I am currently on Season 7, Episode 3.  My 81st episode!

I don't think my Soup Thursdays are "Sheldon-esque", but I admit I'm pretty anal about finishing things I've started.  After this one was over, I noted there were 10 more episodes of Season 7.  There are 13 episodes per season.  How many seasons are there in total?  

THERE ARE 39 SEASONS.  (She must do 3 seasons every calendar year.)

I did a manual count of remaining episodes to watch.  I have 416 more shows.  It took me 3 years to watch 80, I'm not sure I want to watch 416 more.  I turned off her show, turn on the news... this is not a joke.  They said "In entertainment news, for you fans of the Pioneer Woman, she just started filming her 40th season."

This will probably be one habit I can break!

Religion for Sale: A fond farewell to the Coal Lick Methodist Church

This was taken in June 1973, our first day of Bible School that my siblings & I attended every summer at the Coal Lick Methodist Church in Waynesburg, Pa.

That's me and my sister Shawn in the back, my brother Steve and sister Donda-Lin in front

I sure am wearing a lot of plaids here!  Why, Doug... why.

I have very, very fond memories of this small country church.  Our great grandparents were married here, as were our grandparents, and our mom & dad.  So were our Morris aunts, uncles... our oldest brother Duke married his first wife Cheryl here in 1981.

August 7, 1958.  My parents wedding.

The church was built in 1840, and in 1970 had 68 adult members.  

It had a beautiful dark wood ceiling (as you're about to see) and gorgeous stained glass windows on both sides of the church that sadly, are no more.

I told my friend Diana the other night that I always felt a tremendous sense of peace here.  The basement had half windows that filled it with soft light, and a 1940s kitchen where various church or family events were attended with plenty of food.  In the summers during Bible School, we worked on crafts down there.

As I sit here writing this, all these memories come flooding back.  Every year (besides my siblings and first cousins) we'd see other families like the Bland kids.  The oldest Rodney was my age, they all had orangey red hair and loads of freckles.  Their mother loved to sing and had a loud, booming voice.  There were the Zollars girls (the older one was an awful bully who grew up even worse), the Hendersons (BJ, Eddie & Pam, good kids) and our second cousins from our Grandpap's brother Kenneth's family, also named Morris.  

Farm boys, quiet and good looking, with dark hair and tan faces and clear eyes.

On April 19, 1981 the Morrisville Methodist (top) & Coal Lick Methodist church (bottom) had their final day of services.  They joined together to form a new church, the Oak View Methodist

Anyway, this past week my sister sent me a Zillow listing for the Coal Lick which is up for sale.

They're asking $200,000 for the structure and 1/8 acre.  Gosh that sounds steep.

After the church closed up shop in the early Eighties, it sat empty for a number of years before being bought by a family for use as a home.

Over the years they removed the stained glass windows, added a wooden deck on the left side... what happened to the doors on the vestibule in front?

And here's the side opposite the deck--those beautiful stained glass windows replaced with ordinary ones.

Here's a couple pics of the cluttered interior.   Aside from the ceiling (which looks beautiful as ever) it's difficult to picture the church as it once was.  I can still see it clearly in my mind's eye though.   

The current owners have got a lot of bric-a-brac going on here!

One more...

I began having spiritual doubts when I was around 17 or so, and pretty much lost any remaining beliefs in college.  A Sociology professor of mine would talk at length about the need for religion to placate the masses, and I began seeing things in a different light.  I'm not an atheist, but not into organized religion either.  

Finally, I wanted to share this:  I was telling my friend Diana that behind the pulpit of the original church was this very large portrait of Jesus by Heinrich Hofmann.  It was absolutely huge, it must've stood fifty feet tall.  

She said "Well, I'm sure it looked that way to a child's eyes."  Maybe so.  But it never intimidated me, seeing the Savior praying always brought me peace inside, and comfort.  This was the artwork below.  

I will never forget you, Coal Lick Church.