Maybe I should check my pockets more often.

I suppose if I have any kind of routine, it would look something like this:

I wake up every morning a few minutes before my alarm sounds, around 5:10 a.m. For the next two hours, I press, putter and pray. And then after the coffee is brewed from my press (of the start button), I sit in Dad’s chair with a choice cup of choice coffee (black with stevia), cease puttering and continue praying. Sometime in there, another alarm goes off on my phone and this is my snooze countdown. Apple has decreed that there be nine minutes between snoozes, and that is fine. I have built in time for four of those, and it does not matter because I am not snoozing. It just helps me realize at some point that I have to go to work.

I will reach for my morning reading, and after meditating on the thought that is presented, I will sit a spell longer, and then get dressed for work and pack a kind of lunch, possibly remembering to get a spoon. Then I will walk out the door and continue on for < 10 minutes to downtown Milwaukie and catch the 33 bus to work.

The seats at the bus stop are such that I can do some nifty exercises there unless it is crowded and it would appear that I am doing it for show. It is no way for show; it is for my well-being, so that I may live a more full life, one which I intend to share. I exercise at home anyway, and the bus bench is extra. I find many such extras throughout the day, including some stairs at Mrs. T’s house where I do sort of a parallel bar type thing with the rails there.

It is all fun, and work is mostly joyful, what with the riding around town and listening to music for hours at a time. It really is just more puttering, and I am praying, and there is some pressing too. I must press the scanner button A LOT.

And I get paid for it anyway, so it is just alright by me.

I do all of that every weekday and every Saturday. In the evenings, I will come home and tidy up, and do some writing. I may or may not eat anything substantial, as I have been eating throughout the day already.

Friday evenings are different because although I will be working, I do honor the Sabbath and have not knowingly failed to wish Shabbat Shalom for you.

Saturday evenings are different too because immediately upon entering my place, I find some clothes that I will not wear until the next Saturday evening and I replace what I came home in with those once-per-week clothes. Everything else will go into a giant Ikea bag, along with any dish/bath towels and d/b cloths, etc. accompanied by a bottle of laundry soap and a bag of quarters. Saturday nights, after Sabbath has ended, are laundry nights. During this time, I will also call Mom.

I did all of that tonight and was delighted, when moving my clothes from the washer to the dryer, to find a single almond in the bottom of washer number one.

Yes, I did, and it was delicious. All almonds are to me, and they can be nothing else but.

I also, later, after everything was dried, found a pair of glasses and two pennies.

There is another reason that Saturday nights are special, and that is because the next day is my favorite. It’s day one, Sunday, and I get excited just thinking about it.

You know what I would really like? In the morning, when I’ve showered and probably shaved and have carefully done what I can for my fingernails—nails that get battered by what I do for work—and then have dressed in the same thing pretty much that I always wear, if I reached into my left pocket and found an almond. On day one, Sunday, I’d love to find an almond.

One last thing: I may be facing yet another round of trials sort of, so please pray. Every time this happens, it throws off my timing quite a bit, so yeah please do pray.

You too might be puttering around while you are praying and possibly pressing something.


Oooh, and what if you reached into your pocket and found something there? Something that you like as much as I like almonds. Maybe something sweet. Chocolate perhaps.

I can hardly wait until morning to see what I can find.

Sweet dreams. . .

Photograph “Regal” © 2018 Timothy Waugh