Trailhead to Wheeler Peak
Whaddya mean, that's not a transporter?
Wheeler Peak is the highest mountain in New Mexico. Clmbing it was the single hardest day of hiking I have ever done in my entire life. It took me fifteen hours to go from the trailhead to the peak and back. And it took me months to recover. But I only have to do it once; braggin' rights are forever.
Church picnic today. Deanne made a three-bean salad, which is great. The weather is very autumnal, however, so I thought I'd make a hot dish to go with it. So I'm making some colcannon (Irish dish of potatoes, cabbage, and leeks).
Today was a communion Sunday, and my communion steward was out of town. She asked me to get the bread, so I baked some housel this morning. Housel is an old-fashioned word for the communion host, and I use it for the communion bread recipe I got from St. Meinrad Archabbey years ago when I was in seminary. It's a soda bread with a touch of molasses. It tears well, and tastes yummy. One woman said afterwards she was tempted to go back for seconds.
Bible study is Wednesday. I was supposed to do dessert for last week, but we canceled due to one person's surgery and another family's funeral. That puts me on for this Wednesday. I had thought I would be baking a cake for Walter, whose birthday was last week; as it turns out, I'll be making dessert for my own birthday. Oh, the ironies of ministry.
Speaking of which, I found myself standing behind the Table this morning, reciting the Great Thanksgiving, thinking to myself, "Who am I to be saying these huge, magnificent words?" But such is the grace and courtesy of God that I, who need to hear them as much or more as anybody there, is given pride of place to say them to other sinners. Wow.
The day will come, I know. And I dread it. I pay more attention to Sassafras these days, pet her more, talk to her more. I don't want to poison the present with grief to come, but I want to value every day we have together. (Sassy turns 11 this month, and is really showing her age.)