I took Debbie in for an annual blood test before her annual medical checkup and then drove to the Commons coffee shop where Daniel was waiting for me, or whoever else would talk to him. We had a fine conversation about his planning a ten-day bike trip through Eastern Oregon mountains with some of his German friends who are apparently in for such an arduous adventure. He wants me to be the escort car, hauling about five people’s stuff. I said there was nothing I would rather be doing less with next month’s time. I’m trying to do something significant for humanity, like rewriting the UUs “We Unitarian Universalists seek to:“. That takes a strange kind of energy and concentration. It is like trying to rewrite Jesus’ Beatitudes into modern English. It takes a lot of French je ne sais quoi, and it’s hard to find it anywhere, but here in Bend, there is a peculiar vacuum for ultimate realities that everyone here seems like they are trying to find and to fulfill that quest. That is what I was trying to communicate to Daniel, without being excessively rude.
The stormy weather, which included some lightning, brought beautiful photo opportunities over Mirror Pond, just outside of our Commons coffee shop. I composed some very nice ones from the usual tourist photo locations. Later, after a snack at home, Debbie and I went to my annual dental cleaning, where, unfortunately, my doctor said I needed a crown on one of my lower molars because there wasn’t enough tooth left for a simple filling. That’s the way it is at age eighty-three and a half. I still have almost all of my teeth, except for the ones kicked out playing football, but most of the ones I do have, have fillings. C’est la vie!
After I, at least my teeth, were cleaned up we went across Newport Avenue to Bethlyn’s restaurant for a fantastic lunch, and as I was in a photographic mood of seeing patterns and meaning everywhere in the most insignificant things imaginable … I took lots of strange (that is, meaningless) photographs. But, the several artists I encountered since then really liked them. The strange juxtaposition of unusually lit things made into complex, raucous patterns.
We eventually found our way through the peach cobbler and found our way home. After reading philosophy a bit, we went for a walk and visited a local woman’s home. We call her Rhubarb Robin because we give our very bountiful rhubarb plant to her every year about this time. It is flourishing right now with enormous leaves and stalks.
I’m still working on the purpose of life, and I suspect that giving rhubarb away is part of it.