I moved a pile of wood that’s been sat for a few years. The place where it got dripped on and stewed had a colony of mycelium so established that about a dozen boards were sealed together so doggedly that I had to pry them apart with a claw hammer. I’m going to burn them in a pyre, a symbol of my own idiocy for not taking better care of them. In the end it’s not all that much money in wood, but it’s not nothing. And I should have done what I’m aiming to do now, then. So it goes.

It was a gorgeous day today. Nicer than it was before the (hopefully) last bit of snow. It was in the high sixties and I was sweating in a t-shirt. I wore shorts in my office. I had to shower. It was a nice peak into summer. I have a real tenderness for the way we’re eased into the weather. If it were the nineties of August right now, I’d be miserable, but it isn’t. It’s seventy, and that feels lovely. Not too warm for pants at church. I wonder if I’ll ever wear shorts to church. Father Mark wears a whole getup and if he can do it, I should probably do what I can. Maybe I’ll buy some linen pants. That’d be nice.

A whole white linen suit and a straw hat so I can go riverboat gambling after church.

This will be an easy week to write the blog because I’ve got loads of church to attend for Holy Week, that means I have loads of car rides to write in, which is, I think, my most favorite way to write this weird thing I’ve saddled myself with.