Time Travel from Paris to Portland to Paris . . .

Time is such a feeble foe,

almost friend, no master!

As we travel to and fro,

we see it passing faster.

When we sit and ponder time,

it slows with breathless moments—crap! Mom was right, there are mosquitoes out here on the patio, even right now as the Texas sun is rising. It’s a first for me on this particular trip, seeing the sunrise, because of the time differences (pesky things, as if there could actually be zones of time). The first morning I was not an early riser due to being wiped out from only a couple of hours sleep the night before. So, I admit, I slept until what was around 6:30 a.m. in Portland, OR but 9:30 a.m. in Portland, ME. It was a pitiful 8:30 a.m. that first morning here in Paris, TX so by the time I showed up for real life, I’d missed the best part of the morning here: sittin’ and sippin’ and slowly talkin’ with Mom on the back patio.

But, all the other mornings I rose close to my regular west coast time between 4 and 5 a.m. which put me back here on the patio with my coffee at a respectable 6 or 7 and the day was before us, Mom and me.

This morning here I am alone (but never so I know) except for that dang mosquito! So, after its demise by my left hand, squashing it on my right arm—no blood, so either I was quick or it was a male (why are the females the bloodsuckers [I know the answer and it’s only biology] I ask myself rhetorically, and then I wonder if it is possible, actually, to ask oneself a rhetorical question and I do enjoy rabbit holes filled with words, don’t you sometimes? and I think about other blood-suckers and the female mantis who does eat, pray, love: book, movie life but she does it not in that word order, and then I think of those who give life, rather than taking it . . . and then I crawl out of the rabbit hole and I am back on this patio in Paris, TX and it is specifically my dear mother’s patio) and then I flicked its remains away and turned on the fan to keep other pests at bay.

Last night, after church, which was a sweet time with three familiar old songs during which I closed my eyes and remembered 90% of the words and 87% of the tenor parts and had to do it by memory because we had no song books because we were in the gym, not in the auditorium (i.e. sanctuary, but in these parts they’re called auditoriums because of a theological viewpoint that sometimes is askew and amiss but still dear and familiar all the same), because the air conditioning was malfunctioning, and then after the proper order of three songs and a prayer, I participated in a lesson on 1 Corinthians 13 that brought me to tears many times in a short 20 minutes that spanned all eternity and within each tear drop down my cheeks, space-time became the mirage that it actually is, and I asked Mom for a tissue knowing that she had them because she always did, growing up, except she used to force them on me to clean my little boy face, covered in play dirt, and now, I am asking for them, to clean my man face, covered in tears, we went to Braums.

[Yes, two sentences: two paragraphs:)]

Braums is a Texas institution, begun as a dairy, and now a conglomerate of shops across the state famous for ice cream, burgers, and more. Mom and I walked in and she ordered a chocolate sundae with chocolate sauce (not hot fudge) and I ordered a chocolate malt with extra malt and it was delicious and ever will be.

And there is no time, no space. There is only a tie that binds . . .

Good mornin’ again, from Paris, TX.

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