Maybe now I can cheer up…

“So, J., what did you do this weekend?”

Well, aside from church and sleeping and eating, I also moved some chairs around the house. You see, I’ve got this comfortable chair that we bought when we moved into the house some years ago. It was my main chair for watching television. I’ve seen many movies from that chair. I watched the Chicago Cubs win the World Series while sitting in that chair. When this year’s virus crisis kept us from gathering in family groups, I watched my daughter get married while sitting in that chair. When the sirens were blowing, I generally sat in that chair and watched the television coverage of where the storms were hitting and who needed to take cover. (One tornado came within a mile of our house while I was sitting in that chair.)

This spring we replaced the carpeting in that room and ended up redesigning the room. We got rid of our old AV storage and replaced it with new shelving, and at the same time we mounted the television on the wall. Now the family sofa is centered in front of the TV, and my old comfortable chair had retreated into a corner. I rarely sat in it any more. I decided this weekend to move that favorite chair into the library/reading room and put the chair I had been using there into the corner of the den/television room.

I am not as possessive of that chair as Archie Bunker was of his favorite chair. Other members of the household—including cats—have used that chair without any objection from me. Even when it was a new show, I recognized All in the Family as political propaganda, an attempt to persuade Americans that conservative politics are inevitably linked to racism and intolerance. Fifty years later, many Americans still believe that message. So please do not mistake me for Archie Bunker, even if I do have a favorite chair.

Also, I helped my daughter with some body work on her car. Four years ago, she was legally stopped at a stop sign shortly before midnight, and a white pickup truck took the corner too wide and struck her fender. The driver was, of course, uninsured. All these years she has been driving a car with a dented fender, and the rust was increasing on the fender. So, she did some research about the cost of replacement. All along she and I assumed that the work would need to be done at a body shop and would cost several hundred dollars. Last week, though, my daughter found the part for her car available online for sixty dollars, and she found a YouTube video showing how to replace a fender. So, I helped—but she did most of the work. It took a long time to get the old fender off—it would have been far easier if the car was put on a rack and the wheel was removed, because many of those bolts are hard to reach with the wheel in place. We finally got it off, though, and got the new piece in place. She is very happy to be driving a car that is less damaged than it was. She has requested new seat covers as a Christmas gift.

Oh, and this weekend I also published my latest book on Kindle and Amazon. My writing project for 2020 was The Child of Light and the Black Dog: Depression and Christian Faith. The publishing effort was a struggle that took part of Saturday and part of Sunday, because the publishing software didn’t like my files. (Also, the car repair took some time away from wrestling with the publisher.) The book is finally available, though—three dollars for the Kindle version and six for the print version.

With the book finally out of the way, I hope I can escape the cloud of darkness that hovered over its writing. Of course the election is looming on the horizon; but once that is decided and out of the way, perhaps a cheerful holiday season is on its way. J.

New Year’s Eve 2015

The events of New Year’s Eve about a week ago helped to bring the year 2015 to an end in such a way that I was particularly eager to enter a new year, hoping for better things in 2016.

I spent about half the twelve days of Christmas visiting family out of state. On a borrowed laptop I was able to keep up with wordpress, although a few glitches happened here and there. The house was crowded with people, the meal schedule and bedtime schedule were entirely unpredictable, and yet it was good to be with family and to continue the celebration of Christmas which had begun on the 25th of December.

The morning of December 31 began well. The place was quiet as I sat down with a cup of coffee and read from the Bible, as I do every morning. That day’s readings were Psalms 149 and 150 and Revelation 21 and 22. Then I read from Kierkegaard’s writings, as I will do every day for the coming weeks and months. The start of the day was quiet, reverent, and inspiring.

Later that morning I was driving the family van down the highway at 60 miles an hour when I heard a clank and a clunk from under the hood. My first reaction was to shut off the heater and fan. Several times over the last two months, the sound of a slipping belt had briefly come from the engine area. Since no warning lights came on and the van seemed to be operating normally, I assumed that the problem was with the temperature control system, which is why I turned off the heater after those two ominous sounds. Before I made the trip out of state, a mechanic checked the belts of the van, and he had said that they all appeared to be fine.

I continued driving down the highway at 60 miles an hour, wondering if the lack of heat (and of window defrosting) would make the trip home more uncomfortable than usual. As I drove, I began to sense that the steering of the van was different. At first I assured myself that the difference was my imagination: I heard a frightening pair of sounds, part of my anxious mind assumed the worst, and I was prone to think that the van was seriously broken, even though it was still moving down the highway at 60 miles an hour. Only when I had to make a curve of ninety degrees on the highway did I realize that the steering was indeed much different. It felt as if I had no power steering, only manual control of the steering. Carefully I made my way back to the house of my host, and then considered what to do next.

My host knows more about motor vehicles than I do. When he returned from his own trip, he checked the internet for pictures of how the engine of my van should appear; then we opened the hood and examined the engine. The serpentine belt was still there, but it was lying loose in the engine. One of the pulleys meant to keep tension on the belt was completely gone. My host said that in better weather he could replace the pulley, but he would prefer that I take the van to a mechanic. He recommended one not far away, and he assured me that I should be able to drive the van that distance. A longer drive would have been bad news, as the serpentine belt causes the radiator and engine cooling system to work, along with the alternator that recharges the battery, the power steering, and a few other essential items. We made the trip to my host’s favorite neighborhood auto shop. As I drove, I nervously watched the temperature needle on the dashboard climb higher and the alternator needle slip lower. I made it safely to the auto shop. The workers were busy with many customers, but my host told them what was wrong with the van and exactly which parts they would need for the repair. They said they could get it fixed the next day. Then my host brought me back to his house.

The van did get fixed by the end of the next day, and members of the family were remarking how fortunate it was that the van broke down near my host’s house and not half-way between my house and his house. All the same, my usual anxiety was running full steam that afternoon. Driving and mechanical break-downs are triggers for my anxiety, and knowing that the van was going to be fixed, along with knowing that things could have been much worse, did not make my anxiety go away.

Afternoon turned into evening, which then became nighttime. In one room the television was loudly blaring. In another room joyful noises of young people rang loudly as they played a board game. I tried to find a quiet room as far away from the game and the television as possible, but (since the quiet part of the house was reserved for a sleeping baby and her parents), I did not have much luck. Other people meditate to relax; I get the same benefit from reading. Unfortunately, the pleasure reading I had brought for myself involved two books with rather unpleasant main characters: Thomas Covenant in Stephen Donaldson’s Lord Foul’s Bane, and Philip Casey in Somerset Maugham’s Of Human Bondage. Spending time with these two characters, both of whom are self-centered and whiny and unable to get along with other people, was even worse than spending time with my own family.

Midnight came, greetings and kisses were exchanged, and my host then announced, “Everyone has to come outside.” Some of us put on shoes; others remained barefoot. Some put on coats; others were fine in shirtsleeves. As we stood on the cement slab in front of the house, we saw and heard some distant fireworks. I have never liked fireworks—the noise distresses me far more than the colors entertain me. I was willing to watch distant fireworks for a minute or two, though… until my host began shooting off his own fireworks from his front yard. After the first Roman candle exploded, I quickly darted back inside the house.

By one o’clock I was in bed, trying to fall asleep. Six hours later, I was up again, ready to start a new year. I read Psalms 1 and 2 and Genesis 1-3 while sipping my coffee surrounded by quiet. Then I read some more Kierkegaard. I cannot imagine any better way of starting a new year.

May your new year be happy and bright, with as much calm and quiet as you want and need. J.