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  • Writer's pictureJames Eric Fristad

Days in, day out

It's the heat. Not awfully hot by Southern California standards, but 100° is hot. Hence a row of indoor-recess days, with an interlude of an outing now and then, as this morning's, whose 45 minutes I will insist comprise a DAY OUT.

There were surprises for us, visiting our close-by lavender farm this year. Just getting to enjoy one more season (among sparse attendees) there was unexpected, but then to see nearly all of the co-owner's collection of old tractors (those silent and oddly dignified old guardians surrounding Donna's acres of plantings) now gone... whose collector died recently. And, sure, he was ready to go, with spiritual ticket in hand; and he was surrounded by dear friends, whose affection had to have helped. Still, the world seems a little emptier, you know?


Sure, I guess we can rail against principles of entropy. To zero avail. Or we can be deeply thankful for the blessings shared with us, enjoyed even for a short while. Sobering stuff.


Suddenly in sharp focus is that old, old city we hope to see: Rome. And you can't even picture those ruins without seeing images of Believers who lived there. And too often died too young, often horribly. But whose hope could not be crushed. I wonder if Mike has met any of them, you know, if they're showing hum around.


Smiles, here, wondering if he's learning Latin.




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