October 7, 2008
Today, the scolding voice inside my head says, “What were you thinking?!” as Sunday’s activities are reviewed. I began by going to church at Plymouth with Heidi and Zoie and Kira, then driving to First Church so I could hear Charles play a wonderful jazz setting of “This Little Gospel Light of Mine” as a postlude. Upon my return to Seward, I walked Alphie, ate a hurried lunch, and then accompanied Charles to the Alumni Organ Recital where seven of the nine players were Charles’ former students. He also played, concluding the program. (The remaining player was a woman in her early 90’s who graduated from Concordia a year before Charles was born.) This recital was a closing event for the Homecoming weekend, and it continued the inauguration of the new Casavant organ in Heine Recital Hall on campus.
Everything within the day was good. Zoie had purple highlights in her hair, and as she walked through the morning and into church, one could tell that she had that mixed feeling of both wanting to be noticed for her outre’ coif and hoping that people wouldn’t stare. My perception was that for her, the day was all about her head. For me, the music, sermon, prayers, people and celebration of World Communion Sunday were all grand. In the afternoon, the small recital hall was packed with people, and many of them were delighted to see me and give me greetings. I should have been masked to remind others that I am not as they are, but I believe I would have felt like Zoie, only a great deal more so. The entire day was one in which I went against the admonitions of the doctor concerning my immune system. Today, I have scratchy eyes and sore lungs, with coughing beginning to commence, and I have to respond to the scolding voice in my head, “I hear you!” Sigh. I had my blood checked this morning, and the readings indicate a continued slow decline. This is not unlike walking along a narrow path on a cliff with a sizable drop on one side. As one commences, the path narrows almost inperceptibly, and the sense of unease grows as the walk continues. There is no stopping, no turning around, and no signs that a broader way lies ahead.