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I did my sermon last week on the selected text from Mark's gospel. One of the other approved readings, which several people spoke on, was the fairly famous "Where were you?" passage from the Book of Job.
That one, apparently, was more contagious than I realized.
In the week since that session, I've thrown out a knee (although, apparently, it's now been thrown back); had to deal with a bunch of minor fiscal crises, of my own and of le child; continued with plumbing problems in our cellar; and then, last night, almost unbeknownst to me, came within inches of being guillotined in our own garage.
We'd both heard the Rather Loud Thud out there right after I got home from picking up a movie. When the garage door failed to go up this morning, we found the cause. Our original wooden door has been hanging in there since probably 1960, definitely since we got here in '94, and it's survived a couple of openers and more than a cable snafu or two. This, though, was the first time I can remember it jamming in a way, and at a time, that locked both of our vehicles in the garage- and on a Sunday, no less.
With our combined pushing, we moved it a few inches, but I saw bad things potentially going wrong with that if we tried pushing it all the way up (damn thing must weigh close to 300 pounds), and so I resolved to look up one of the "emergency service" overhead door companies in the yellow pages. It's the first time I've cracked that book in ages, and it did, basically, two shits worth of good. Few even offer such service anymore, at least on a Sunday; one that advertised doing so offered me their earliest appointment.... on Tuesday. "Well, we've taken the company in a different direction and we don't do that anymore," she said. Many ringy-dingies and voice mails later, we got a guy nearby here who can supposedly get someone here first thing tomorrow morning, and that's as good as it's gonna get. I've called the client and emailed the opposing lawyer to tell them I might not be able to walk to Rochester in the morning, and we'll see how that works out.
Meanwhile, our carbon footprints shrank noticeably as our only departures of the day were on foot: Eleanor headed one way to pick up wine (and a stray $5 bill found floating round the liquor store), I went the other to return the movie from last night. It wound up, for each of us, about the same distance as doing cardio indoors would have covered; the sun was out, the air brisk, and I got to catch up with some missed Wait Wait segments as I headed to Redbox and Redback.
As Eleanor has said, it's a massive blessing that it was the spring on the far (passenger) side of my car that blew; had the other one chosen to go, it likely would have done so just as I was in its path walking back into the house. It could also have easily taken out a windshield or worse on my car instead of falling harmlessly to the floor next to it.
There's less than happy shit going on, as there seemingly always is, but I'm reminded that in the end, even Job got his groove back. As shall we.
That one, apparently, was more contagious than I realized.
In the week since that session, I've thrown out a knee (although, apparently, it's now been thrown back); had to deal with a bunch of minor fiscal crises, of my own and of le child; continued with plumbing problems in our cellar; and then, last night, almost unbeknownst to me, came within inches of being guillotined in our own garage.
We'd both heard the Rather Loud Thud out there right after I got home from picking up a movie. When the garage door failed to go up this morning, we found the cause. Our original wooden door has been hanging in there since probably 1960, definitely since we got here in '94, and it's survived a couple of openers and more than a cable snafu or two. This, though, was the first time I can remember it jamming in a way, and at a time, that locked both of our vehicles in the garage- and on a Sunday, no less.
With our combined pushing, we moved it a few inches, but I saw bad things potentially going wrong with that if we tried pushing it all the way up (damn thing must weigh close to 300 pounds), and so I resolved to look up one of the "emergency service" overhead door companies in the yellow pages. It's the first time I've cracked that book in ages, and it did, basically, two shits worth of good. Few even offer such service anymore, at least on a Sunday; one that advertised doing so offered me their earliest appointment.... on Tuesday. "Well, we've taken the company in a different direction and we don't do that anymore," she said. Many ringy-dingies and voice mails later, we got a guy nearby here who can supposedly get someone here first thing tomorrow morning, and that's as good as it's gonna get. I've called the client and emailed the opposing lawyer to tell them I might not be able to walk to Rochester in the morning, and we'll see how that works out.
Meanwhile, our carbon footprints shrank noticeably as our only departures of the day were on foot: Eleanor headed one way to pick up wine (and a stray $5 bill found floating round the liquor store), I went the other to return the movie from last night. It wound up, for each of us, about the same distance as doing cardio indoors would have covered; the sun was out, the air brisk, and I got to catch up with some missed Wait Wait segments as I headed to Redbox and Redback.
As Eleanor has said, it's a massive blessing that it was the spring on the far (passenger) side of my car that blew; had the other one chosen to go, it likely would have done so just as I was in its path walking back into the house. It could also have easily taken out a windshield or worse on my car instead of falling harmlessly to the floor next to it.
There's less than happy shit going on, as there seemingly always is, but I'm reminded that in the end, even Job got his groove back. As shall we.