With our days growing longer and the temps rising, I’m now finding it more bearable to be out and about early in the morning. There’s nothing like traveling to work in the midst of dawn breaking, because it truly feels like another fresh start of a new day.
After getting myself situated at the office, I looked at the clock and realized I did have time to take in a church Service, so I hurriedly dashed over there just as they were singing their entrance song. Ugh! They had that same leader of song loudly singing off-key which immediately started grinding on me. I’m now wondering if he’s burned his voice out from singing Karaoke, because I’ve heard that when someone sings too much of it, they start loosing their sense of pitch. I’m not sure if it’s true, but I have heard more than one story about the long-term effects of singing in Karaoke bars.
There was a guest speaker giving the sermon, and I dare say there wasn’t a thing he said which I found memorable, and truth be told, I discovered myself being captivated by the way in which the sun was making their stained glass windows appearing all the more alive with color. Of the many Sundays I’ve noticed the design in those windows, today was the first time I could see more hidden messages in them, and the more I looked, the more they became all the clearer. It shocked me to think that after those years of noticing them, having never once “connected the dots” on their symbolic messages. I’m sure if I would point them out to one of their congregants, I would be dismissed as some sort of religious radical. As it is in nearly all streams of life, people don’t want to be challenged on things they’ve already fully accepted, because that’s what was either taught or shown to them by a respected parent or elder.
I did managed to get some good contemplative praying done while there, so I guess today’s religious experience was a keeper. It has been said since I can remember, that if we can get at least a few good kernels of spiritual uplifting while at our church Services, then we’ve performed our Sunday duties.
My dear grandmother who was exceptionally well-read, along with being quick to comment on a Sunday’s Service, would not only give good as well as bad criticisms on sermons, but also speak about the poor deliveries of the written Word. She was always correct because I too would find the weak delivery of Scripture by lectors and pastors, a good way in which to cause that church’s body of listeners to direct their attentions towards more secular thoughts such as, “What am I going to make for dinner tonight?”
I’ve seen some exceptionally good speakers come and go, and most of them are now taking their dirt naps. I’ll never forget one elderly lady who was one of the revolving regulars at a church, and more than once afterwards, I would sincerely extend my praises for her ability to deliver the Word, but never did she accept my complimentary observations in a prideful manner. Oh how I wish she were still living amongst us.
One of my clients called after I returned to my office and asked if I would help him get a cast iron bathtub on and off his pickup truck, and since I was free, I agreed. When I got over to his house, I discovered it was one of the really heavy brutes which required more than two people. Luckily he had his brother-in-law there to help, so up the ramp it went, and then later, off it came. Yes, those old cast tubs were built to last, and that one being of no exception. After a good visit, he thanked me, and then off I dashed.
My early afternoon appointment at my listing in Plymouth was greatly delayed by a train that had come to a complete stop at an S56 crossing which is the main drag going into Plymouth. I sat there for about five minutes until I’d had enough, so I drove about eight miles father, just so to get around it. Believe it or not, as I was driving into Plymouth from the north, that train had finally begun to move, but I wasn’t as late as I thought I’d be, because the buyers were good enough to wait for me to get there.
The second showing on that home went well, and while there, I pointed out a few more hidden features it offered which they’d missed the last time they looked. Thank goodness it was a warm and sunny afternoon, because that home felt cozy, along with being filled with today’s all the warming afternoon sun. There’s no question I could make that home a showplace, but unfortunately, most young buyers are unable to look past cosmetic turn-offs, and see long-term value.
If I were to build a late 1800’s home, I would create a floor plan just as that one, but with only a few changes in its design, and only for convenience purposes. For having a stone foundation, I’m still in disbelief by how deep its basement is, along with how straight that old girl’s walls are.
While on my way back from Plymouth, I noticed something in the distance, so I stopped alongside the road, and walked out into a meadow to take the above photo of a brook that appeared to be breaking-thru winter with it’s crystal clear yet icy cold waters. Yes, Spring is on its way, and just today I noticed a Magnolia tree that was beginning send out its fuzzy blossom buds. When I looked at my car’s thermometer while driving back, it actually registered 48 degrees. Hooray for our delightful Sunday!
Tonight’s one-liner is: If you change the way you look at things, the things you look at change nearly always for the better.