Before I get carried away with this, as I sometimes do, let me apologize for my fragrant fingers. I just applied some Avon Foot Works Deep moisture Cream to the palms of both feet to fend off dryness which has a tendency to attack exposed body parts without warning. Actually, I have plenty of warning but forget to do anything about it, normally, until time for bed. Then I don’t want to apply it because it makes my feet stick to the sheets and I don’t like that. So, I cream my feet during the day, mainly because Diane insists. Not because they are odoriferous, but because they are dry.
First thing this morning, around 0630, I attempted to place my open yogurt container, from which I had yet to partake, upon the table by my assigned end of the couch. It was dark so most of you may think that setting the container in such a manner that when released would tumble freely to the floor. It was particularly distressing because it was Peach, one of my favorites. It landed big side down which, for some yogurt containers would be a good thing, but not for Tillamook yogurt. Their big end is the one used to dip out the great tasting interior of the container. There was a small pile of yogurt next to the upside down container meaning the remainder had to still be inside.
So, I had a dilemma.
Do I make an honest effort and try to contain the spilled remnants inside the container as I tipped it over? Do I flip it fast, or flip is slow? Or, just pick it up like nothing is wrong?
I chose the latter and was pleased when I discovered that at least half of the container was full. The other half remained on the floor in two fairly evenly sized piles. I wasn’t sure if this constituted a new dilemma or was still part of the first one, but it was a dilemma, all the same.
The piles that escaped were sitting placidly on the hard wood floor, missing the carpet by mere inches. I didn’t see any visual evidence of dog or cat hair in the vicinity, so briefly considered just scooping it up and putting it back into the container and calling it good. Instead, I retrieved my spoon from the end table and, since I was already on my knees, just bent of a little and scooped spoons full directly into my mouth.
I did this for two reasons – 1) I chose to not take a chance of contaminating the yogurt that remained in the container, and 2) Diane wasn’t there to tell me it was a bad idea. I already knew it was probably a bad idea, but I’ve eaten food from the floor in the past, and I believe I’m better for it. More on that later, if I remember.
When scooping up the remains, I was very careful to not touch the spoon all the way down to the floor. Doing that would have pulled up all manner of things like 409, Simple Green, wax, and old varnish. Perhaps a pet hair or two, also. That didn’t happen. I got pure yogurt and I got most of it.
Once I’d had my share of the floor yogurt, I called Ozzie over to see if he liked Peach yogurt. He did for a short time, but quickly gave it up so Panzee could finish up. Panzee likes any kind of yogurt. She’s my official yogurt container cleaner, getting the remnants my spoon can’t. When she was finished with the floor, she stared intently at me, waiting for the container to finish the job. I ate slowly, causing her great concern, but she kept her cool, and didn’t issue any threats that would cause me to hasten the process.
Then I took my morning nap, waking at Diane’s command around 0800, alerting me that we had to leave for church in an hour.
An hour! I still had a good 30 minutes of sleep time to go, so I took it, arising precisely at 0830.
We left at 0900, picked up Diane’s Mom, Jean, and arrived at church about 0910. It’s a quick trip.
During the service, I was the designated communion assistant. Yeah, I know. That’s a little out of character for me, but I did it quite frequently and most people don’t seem to mind. My job is to handle the wine with decorum and appropriately bestow the blessing of “Christ’s blood, shed for you.” I do that for each parishioner who choses to accept communion. Today we had communion via “intinction” so all I had to do was hold the cup as everyone dipped their wafer into the wine. It’s a simple task.
When everyone was done, we returned to the altar to replace unused wafers and the wine when the 2nd casualty of the day transpired. I bumped the wafer tray while sitting the goblet down and slopped wine all over the altar. I also soaked a few wafers. To help save me from ridicule, pastor moved toward me to cover the mishap as we sopped it up with the napkins placed there for just that purpose. Thankfully, this has happened so many times in the past, that a thick plastic cover was placed over the paraments to protect them. So, it wasn’t the catastrophe that it could have been.
After the service, like every other Sunday, we went to the basement for coffee and treats. It’s called “Coffee Hour”, but sometimes it lasts 2-3 hours so that’s not a descriptive name for this event. But, it’s tradition, so I’ll just go with that.
Things went well for the first 10 minutes or so, while I was talking with Ron. Then, without any warning, what so ever, I found it necessary to make a gesture to punctuate a statement and made it half way through before disaster struck. Standing at the table, the gesture issued away from my body successfully, but on the return to the resting position, a little bit of just one finger found the edge of Ron’s coffee cup, spilling the contents toward me in a rush of liquid. I managed to jump back, like it was a normal movement, and calmly stood there assessing the damage as Ron rushed to get a rag to staunch the flow. I had one little splash mark just below the knee of my left pant leg which I could easily hide from Diane. Thankfully, Ron chose to put creamer in his coffee today, so it was essentially the same color as my khaki pants. No one else received damage from this. I attribute this to my foresight to spill it toward me, not away from me. Even then, I think the large doily in the center of the table would have sucked the coffee up quickly. We may never know.
From church we went to Burger King, for a nutritious lunch, then to Fred Meyer so Diane and Mom could shop for food while I stayed on guard in the vehicle. They were only gone about an hour before returning with two loaded carts which I would have helped with but my seat belt was still hooked up. I even sat there and watched 86-year-old Jean push the carts back to the store. A bit of grief was bestowed upon me for that discretion. It wasn’t bad because those present recognized that it was not my nature to avoid opportunities like that. I’m the guy who always opens car doors, any doors, for the ladies in my presence. A lost art, I know, but an example I insist on displaying not matter where we are. Diane is so used to this that, when leaving the house, she goes into the garage and stands beside her car, knowing I’m right behind her to open the door. There’s just the two of us, but the gesture has even more meaning then than when done in public. It’s not done for show, but as a sign of respect. Looking back on this, I should have freed myself from my seat and done the right thing, but I didn’t. Now I must live with this flaw on my previously almost unflawed behavior. Drat!
The coffee spilling incident was #3 for the day so I figured I was pretty safe for foreseeable future. So far, that’s been true, but there is a long way to go until bedtime. Lots of stuff could happen in the next 5-6 hours. I’m pretty confident I’ll be safe until tomorrow.
Something I forgot to mention yesterday, with regard to the failed fuel pump, is that I discovered an absolutely brand new one in one of the little storage compartments on the RV. There’s even a new starter, in case the current one fails. Since there was already a new fuel pump, it’s normal to presume that the previous owner anticipated this failure. Tomorrow I’m going to install it and see what happens. I might even add some brake fluid to the master cylinder to solve that issue.