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I awake to a full view of our backyard each morning. 

Our rental unit is situated in a development complex.  We do not have to care for the yard.  At the same time we get to watch those who do. 

A recent hailstorm stripped leaves and fruit from some of the trees.  The vinyl fence saw so significant holes appear.  The grass just seemed to survive all on its own. 

The yard workers contracted by the condominium board were by a few days later.  With mechanical equipment they cleaned the debris quickly.  How soon the fence is fixed will depend on a number of factors – one of which I imagine will be the busyness of contractors after such a strong hailstorm.

Meanwhile I’m having fun.  A mirror on our van was cracked.  Rather than submit a claim (which may have been less than our deductible) I took to the internet.  Turns out the fix would be fun to do, be less than $100 and could be completed in this next week.  So, new project on the way!!  And hailstone pock marks?  Appears there may be an easy fix there as well. 

Life can be fun!

What literature does is not what you may think.  At least the literature of narrative tends to leave you wide open for speculation in your thinking – which thoughts may be totally opposite or at least varied from other’s thinking .  Instead of a firm direction – many directions are opened.

We watched a recommended movie called “Amsterdam” last night.  The movie was probably somewhat sanitized from what could have been shown, and went at a cumbersome pace.  But, in the end (and at the end) I felt like this was not about an actual historical time and event, as loosely implied in the opening header. 

Rather, . . . Is this just another conspiracy theory?  Or perhaps a thinly veiled protest against Donald Trump?  Or a place for A list celebrities to congregate?  Or an avenue to protest old conservative values?  Or . . .

Not a recommendation to watch the movie!  Rather an observation on how narratives in the form of theatrical presentations often generate many different political and personal perspectives.

I was reminded that I’ve been 60 years in on-stage music events.

When I was 10 years old I was asked to sing a solo at a church summer program final event.  Church and school choirs in my teen years.  Music group touring in my 20’s and 30’s.  In my 50’s I ran a music and worship program in a local church.  By my 60’s I sang on stage occasionally. 

Now in my seventies I love to sing in church – and my voice tends to carry.  A neighbour of ours knew I was in church this past Sunday.  Not because she saw me but because she heard me!

Following in my mother’s footsteps, I expect to be singing until I die!  And then a heavenly choir sounds like a great place for my next gig!

Friday we attended the memorial service for Miles Haugan held in Sylvan Lake, AB, his home for the last 20 years.

The loss of Miles Haugan has been greater than I thought.  Certainly there were the memories of Miles, who had been my father’s hired man in the early 1950’s.  And there was the laughter of a life well lived and a family joyfully celebrating.  Add to that the coveted Nanaimo bars that were served at the luncheon.

Let me take you to the celebration.  Central to all of the themes shared was Jesus.  Miles was a coffee guy who loved people, and loved for people to know about Jesus.  Described as a blue collar man, his influence was wide wherever he lived (and apparently, after his marriage he lived in 26 different abodes).  He loved music – and music about Jesus.  He loved his family – they knew it!  He loved life – and never played the victim although he had his share of sufferings.

The weeping was with joy!

As the service progressed my weeping went deeper – touching another chord in my life.  Both of our families have run somewhat parallel tracks.  Miles loved the harmony of music – as did our family.  Miles had six children, one of whom was adopted in his later years – as did our family (OK, my parents had seven kids running around).  And other parallels could be found.

Where my tears began to really flow was where Miles excelled and I merely survive or perhaps even fail.  As the attributes of Miles were carefully delineated, I began to look to my own life – and how I would aspire to be like Miles. 

To which I’m sure Miles would have stated, “Not me.  Jesus”.

And that is enough said.