Michael is this black guy I've know for most of the 20 years I've been Rector of St. John's. He is an intelligent, witty, interesting man. I've never figured out quite how he is only a step or two from the streets. For years I went to the Y to walk the treadmill and take a steam bath and he was often there--lifting more weight than my car could push. He became very upper-body developed and looked like some kind of athlete. He always wears a black silk do-rag and is a good looking man.
He's never volunteered anything about his past, and I've never inquired. Just an agreement we met on early in our relationship. But he knows the Bible well--probably better than me with all my education--and, unlike most self-taught Bible scholars, he had a liberal vent to his interpretation.
I saw him on the street today, walking somewhere, dressed totally in black--do-rag and all, carrying a gym bag. I noticed his upper body has shrunk and wondered why but did not ask.
"Did you bring me a stone from Ireland?" is what he said to me.
Though I don't remember, I must have told him I was going to Ireland and he must have asked me for a stone, for whatever reason.
We have lots of stones in the church because the 'symbols' of Lent have started to pile up. I almost went in and got him one--how would he know, wouldn't it be 'from Ireland' if I said so?
But then I was reminded that our talks had deserved better than a 'false stone'.
I told him I'd remember this time--when I go in June. He said he'd come by the office to pick it us. God knows why he wants it, but it oddly makes sense to me--something about holy ground and stuff like that, which I imagine he is concerned with.
So, I hope I remember and don't disappoint him again. I realized I'd be retired by the time I go to Ireland--or at least not coming to St. John's but living on them during my final sabbatical.
But I'll find him a stone and bring it across the Atlantic and mail it to the church for him, if he remembers.
It's more likely that he'll remember than that I will. I hope we both do.
A piece of the Emerald Isle is something Michael should have and something I'd be honored to bring him.
How wondrous this place has been to me--to have God grant me the privilege to know Wanderers on the Earth like Michael.....
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Thursday, February 25, 2010
seminarians--iv
D. was the only person I ever supervised (such as I do) who was more progressive and liberal than I am.
She was doing a summer internship between her second and last year of seminary and the Bishop of WV decided there were only two priests who could work with her, given her left-wing leanings. The other was another Jim who was the Rector of the big down-town Church in Charleston and I was the vicar of St. James, the black church. Since other-Jim was her sponsor, I got the privilege.
She liberated me, inspired me, taught me and drove me crazy!
She was an English major so we shared lots of things--she has gone on to be a novelist of note, writing historical fiction. Some of you might know her name if I wrote it out because she wrote a novel about Dietrich Bonhoeffer that was widely acclaimed. I liked that one less than her two earlier historic novel--one about Prince Hal and the other about the coal wars in West Virginia. I just have a problem with 'novels' about people who are still alive and some of the characters in the Bonhoeffer book were still alive and the others weren't dead long enough for my taste. But anyway, she was a wondrously smart and talented woman when I worked with her.
Her passion was to challenge the coal companies who were ravaging West Virginia. The tipping point was long after she worked with me when, as a deacon, she staged a protest of the banquet at the WV diocesan convention because some coal mine owners were delegates. The other Jim and I and a couple of other legitimate liberals tried to convince her to come in and eat. And she wouldn't. She carried a sign outside the hotel and fasted for that meal. We went in and, I'm sorry to say, supped with people who were destroying the beauty and integrity of the mountains of our state. She was right all along. I wonder why the food didn't turn to sand in my mouth....
God bless her and people like her. She is a better person than me--even a better 'man' than me.
She left the church for a while and taught in college. But she is back now, God bless her, still pushing the church to be 'what it should be'.
Jesus wouldn't have gone to that banquet, I don't think....And I did....
Something to ponder about myself....
She was doing a summer internship between her second and last year of seminary and the Bishop of WV decided there were only two priests who could work with her, given her left-wing leanings. The other was another Jim who was the Rector of the big down-town Church in Charleston and I was the vicar of St. James, the black church. Since other-Jim was her sponsor, I got the privilege.
She liberated me, inspired me, taught me and drove me crazy!
She was an English major so we shared lots of things--she has gone on to be a novelist of note, writing historical fiction. Some of you might know her name if I wrote it out because she wrote a novel about Dietrich Bonhoeffer that was widely acclaimed. I liked that one less than her two earlier historic novel--one about Prince Hal and the other about the coal wars in West Virginia. I just have a problem with 'novels' about people who are still alive and some of the characters in the Bonhoeffer book were still alive and the others weren't dead long enough for my taste. But anyway, she was a wondrously smart and talented woman when I worked with her.
Her passion was to challenge the coal companies who were ravaging West Virginia. The tipping point was long after she worked with me when, as a deacon, she staged a protest of the banquet at the WV diocesan convention because some coal mine owners were delegates. The other Jim and I and a couple of other legitimate liberals tried to convince her to come in and eat. And she wouldn't. She carried a sign outside the hotel and fasted for that meal. We went in and, I'm sorry to say, supped with people who were destroying the beauty and integrity of the mountains of our state. She was right all along. I wonder why the food didn't turn to sand in my mouth....
God bless her and people like her. She is a better person than me--even a better 'man' than me.
She left the church for a while and taught in college. But she is back now, God bless her, still pushing the church to be 'what it should be'.
Jesus wouldn't have gone to that banquet, I don't think....And I did....
Something to ponder about myself....
Seminarians--iii
When I was at St. Paul's in New Haven, a place where there were usually 2 or 3 seminarians around for me to pretend to supervise, there was a young man who I admired and liked greatly.
He was a model of a good Seminarian--willing to try most anything, open and interested in the members of the parish, a reasonable preacher, a good colleague.
I was the preacher at his marriage, down in the Mainline of Philadelphia where the celebrant was the Rector at the time, Frank Griswold, who went on to become Presiding Bishop. But here's the thing, I called him once when the bishop had made a decision about gay/lesbian issues that I felt was reactionary and did not represent the general will of the diocese. I had a long talk with him about what was going on--he was a CT priest at the time--(or, more correctly, I ranted on about how awful the bishop's decision...whatever it was...was). When I asked him to help by approaching the bishop about the decision I listened to a lot of dead air on the phone.
Finally, I realized, intuitively, that he didn't agree with me.
Now, I've never made any secret of what I think about social or theological issues and this young priest had worked with me for two years and was exemplary. But in all that time and since his ordination--I was one of his presenters as I remember--he'd never once let me know that he was a whole, honkin' lot more conservative than I was.
He finally explained that he didn't agree and couldn't help me. I was stunned. I simply couldn't understand how I hadn't known his positions and thoughts. He was, for the time before he left CT for another diocese, one of the most eloquent of the right-wing of the diocese. And I had worked with him for two years and known him well after that and never realized.
Looking back I have to ponder some things. *Am I too intimidating to disagree with? Do I come on so strong about what I believe and support that it would be hard to 'cross' me? *Did he hide his opinions from me or develop them later? *What was the breakdown in our relationship that I merely assumed we agreed on most things when in fact we didn't at all? *Did I never ask him what he thought or never invite him to share his beliefs? *Was I just so self-absorbed I never realized how we differed in the years we worked so closely?
I'm still not sure--but it was jarring to me, that day I called him....
Now it is merely something I have to sit with and ponder. And wonder, whatever the reason was, were their others...?
He was a model of a good Seminarian--willing to try most anything, open and interested in the members of the parish, a reasonable preacher, a good colleague.
I was the preacher at his marriage, down in the Mainline of Philadelphia where the celebrant was the Rector at the time, Frank Griswold, who went on to become Presiding Bishop. But here's the thing, I called him once when the bishop had made a decision about gay/lesbian issues that I felt was reactionary and did not represent the general will of the diocese. I had a long talk with him about what was going on--he was a CT priest at the time--(or, more correctly, I ranted on about how awful the bishop's decision...whatever it was...was). When I asked him to help by approaching the bishop about the decision I listened to a lot of dead air on the phone.
Finally, I realized, intuitively, that he didn't agree with me.
Now, I've never made any secret of what I think about social or theological issues and this young priest had worked with me for two years and was exemplary. But in all that time and since his ordination--I was one of his presenters as I remember--he'd never once let me know that he was a whole, honkin' lot more conservative than I was.
He finally explained that he didn't agree and couldn't help me. I was stunned. I simply couldn't understand how I hadn't known his positions and thoughts. He was, for the time before he left CT for another diocese, one of the most eloquent of the right-wing of the diocese. And I had worked with him for two years and known him well after that and never realized.
Looking back I have to ponder some things. *Am I too intimidating to disagree with? Do I come on so strong about what I believe and support that it would be hard to 'cross' me? *Did he hide his opinions from me or develop them later? *What was the breakdown in our relationship that I merely assumed we agreed on most things when in fact we didn't at all? *Did I never ask him what he thought or never invite him to share his beliefs? *Was I just so self-absorbed I never realized how we differed in the years we worked so closely?
I'm still not sure--but it was jarring to me, that day I called him....
Now it is merely something I have to sit with and ponder. And wonder, whatever the reason was, were their others...?
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
seminarians--ii
One of the great thing about all--most all--the seminarians I've so-called 'supervised' over the years is how many of them were funny.
(This is, if you've been reading this blog along, a continuing of my need to catalog things--like my blue clothes, my shoes, etc. I just need to look back and remember right now....)
And maybe, just maybe, they weren't all that funny. Maybe I just find most everything amusing. But I'm sticking with my original belief--I've worked with lots of funny people.
Once Michael, who was a seminarian or intern or someone I was supposedly 'supervising' was going to open the 8 a.m. service. Malinda, the associate Rector and Bob our all-star, indispensable head acolyte, sacristan, jack-of-all-trades who makes most everything liturgical 'work' were in the vesting room with Michael. (By the way, you would never call him "Mike" or "Mickey" or any of that--he was and is, Michael.) But Michael and Malinda and I had on lapel microphones but only Michael needed his turned on. "Wait a minute," he said as we were about to go out to the chancel, "I have to turn myself on...."
And Malinda, a very attractive 40 something woman, said, "I always find that's easier than having someone else do it."
Well, Michael lost it and was laughing so hard that we all went out without him and someone else opened the service.
Then there was John, from years and years ago, who knew we owned a house at some point in North Carolina. He had just been called to a church near Long Beach, where our house was and called me up, introducing himself as Delbert Dimwit or something, the fire marshall of Oak Island.
"Fr. Bradley," he said (me buying he was Delbert) "you own a home on Long Beach."
"Yes," I told him.
"Well," he said, "the gas company was doing some work on the lines down there" (all this in an exaggerated but convincing North Carolina accent--and John was from New Jersey) "and a fire broke out next to your house...."
I became hysterical and not understandable.
"Not to worry, Fr. Bradley," Delbert/John continued, "it is actually good news. The fire left an outline of the Last Supper and a profile of Ronald Reagan on the side of your house. The property value has gone way up...."
Even then I wasn't sure I was being sucked into something so he finally dropped into his Newark voice and told me who he was.
Another Michael and Malinda story. The first Sunday Michael was a deacon he was going to read the gospel. I bet Malinda he would kiss the book after he read it. Since Malinda and I are so broad/low church we found it astonishing that he would kiss the gospel. I always say, 'when you kiss the gospel you are kissing everyone who ever kissed it' and find it just too, too precious for my taste, though not a bad thing, I assure you.
We got the gospel book and realized it required turning the page to complete the reading. So Malinda got one of those yellow sticky pads, put on lipstick and made a big, honking lipstick mouth on the sticky and we put it on the second page of the gospel Michael would read and wrote, beneath it, KISS THIS!
As Bob--our all-star, in on the prank, carried the gospel book down, Malinda panicked and whispered to me "we have to tell him...."
Of course, I said, "No, no, we don't...."
Michael turned the page, didn't miss a word though Bob was chuckling visably, finished the gospel, turned back from the center aisle to catch our eyes and kissed that sticky note....
God bless them all.
I have more for Seminarians iii, ok?
(This is, if you've been reading this blog along, a continuing of my need to catalog things--like my blue clothes, my shoes, etc. I just need to look back and remember right now....)
And maybe, just maybe, they weren't all that funny. Maybe I just find most everything amusing. But I'm sticking with my original belief--I've worked with lots of funny people.
Once Michael, who was a seminarian or intern or someone I was supposedly 'supervising' was going to open the 8 a.m. service. Malinda, the associate Rector and Bob our all-star, indispensable head acolyte, sacristan, jack-of-all-trades who makes most everything liturgical 'work' were in the vesting room with Michael. (By the way, you would never call him "Mike" or "Mickey" or any of that--he was and is, Michael.) But Michael and Malinda and I had on lapel microphones but only Michael needed his turned on. "Wait a minute," he said as we were about to go out to the chancel, "I have to turn myself on...."
And Malinda, a very attractive 40 something woman, said, "I always find that's easier than having someone else do it."
Well, Michael lost it and was laughing so hard that we all went out without him and someone else opened the service.
Then there was John, from years and years ago, who knew we owned a house at some point in North Carolina. He had just been called to a church near Long Beach, where our house was and called me up, introducing himself as Delbert Dimwit or something, the fire marshall of Oak Island.
"Fr. Bradley," he said (me buying he was Delbert) "you own a home on Long Beach."
"Yes," I told him.
"Well," he said, "the gas company was doing some work on the lines down there" (all this in an exaggerated but convincing North Carolina accent--and John was from New Jersey) "and a fire broke out next to your house...."
I became hysterical and not understandable.
"Not to worry, Fr. Bradley," Delbert/John continued, "it is actually good news. The fire left an outline of the Last Supper and a profile of Ronald Reagan on the side of your house. The property value has gone way up...."
Even then I wasn't sure I was being sucked into something so he finally dropped into his Newark voice and told me who he was.
Another Michael and Malinda story. The first Sunday Michael was a deacon he was going to read the gospel. I bet Malinda he would kiss the book after he read it. Since Malinda and I are so broad/low church we found it astonishing that he would kiss the gospel. I always say, 'when you kiss the gospel you are kissing everyone who ever kissed it' and find it just too, too precious for my taste, though not a bad thing, I assure you.
We got the gospel book and realized it required turning the page to complete the reading. So Malinda got one of those yellow sticky pads, put on lipstick and made a big, honking lipstick mouth on the sticky and we put it on the second page of the gospel Michael would read and wrote, beneath it, KISS THIS!
As Bob--our all-star, in on the prank, carried the gospel book down, Malinda panicked and whispered to me "we have to tell him...."
Of course, I said, "No, no, we don't...."
Michael turned the page, didn't miss a word though Bob was chuckling visably, finished the gospel, turned back from the center aisle to catch our eyes and kissed that sticky note....
God bless them all.
I have more for Seminarians iii, ok?
seminarians
One of the privileges and honors and humbling experiences I've had as a priest in this branch of God's holy, catholic and apostolic church (whatever that means) is to 'supervise' seminarians.
I spent a while trying to remember who all I had 'supervised' and lost count several times. I think it is around 30 or so--a few less or a few more. And I loved and still love them all....
I have used punctuation (' and ') to set off the word and concept 'supervised' because I think there is nothing I have done that was, by definition, supervisory for those folks. Mostly what I've done is give them their head, let them loose and covered their asses when necessary.
Ironically, the one thing seminary education does not teach you is 'how to be a priest in a parish in the real world'.
One can learn a great deal worth learning in seminary, truly. You can learn scholarship about the Bible and learn theology and church history (though no one, including me, learned nearly enough about that in seminary) and you learn about the liturgy and pastoral care and all sorts of really important and necessary things. But you never, ever learn how to be a priest in a parish in the real world.
So, I took that on as my job, my purpose, my calling--to set them free and give them their head and cover their asses in the real world of being a priest. And one of the great things about having them around was that they kept me thinking theologically--because that was their job at the time--and kept me hoping for the future of the church with such wondrous creatures in it.
I'm pressed for time but I'll do "seminarians--cont." soon....God love them all, we are better people and a better church because of them....
I spent a while trying to remember who all I had 'supervised' and lost count several times. I think it is around 30 or so--a few less or a few more. And I loved and still love them all....
I have used punctuation (' and ') to set off the word and concept 'supervised' because I think there is nothing I have done that was, by definition, supervisory for those folks. Mostly what I've done is give them their head, let them loose and covered their asses when necessary.
Ironically, the one thing seminary education does not teach you is 'how to be a priest in a parish in the real world'.
One can learn a great deal worth learning in seminary, truly. You can learn scholarship about the Bible and learn theology and church history (though no one, including me, learned nearly enough about that in seminary) and you learn about the liturgy and pastoral care and all sorts of really important and necessary things. But you never, ever learn how to be a priest in a parish in the real world.
So, I took that on as my job, my purpose, my calling--to set them free and give them their head and cover their asses in the real world of being a priest. And one of the great things about having them around was that they kept me thinking theologically--because that was their job at the time--and kept me hoping for the future of the church with such wondrous creatures in it.
I'm pressed for time but I'll do "seminarians--cont." soon....God love them all, we are better people and a better church because of them....
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
shoes
Since I have been inventorying my clothes, I thought I'd add shoes--which are not blue.
Like most things, I have very few shoes. I have a pair of Berkinstock sandals I wear indoors in winter and always when spring comes. My current pair is tan and were a Xmas gift from my son and daughter-in-law in 2008. I checked the tread recently and think I can get another Spring/Summer/Fall out of them. I have a pair of Berkinstock clogs that are gray and many years old--I wore them one day recently in the snow and nearly fell down half-a-dozen times. They have no tread left at all and should be discarded. I have a pair of loafers I keep at church that are my burying/marrying shoes--just like my one suit that I keep at church.
At some one's funeral a member of the parish commented that I had on shoes. I told him the dead person was 'shoe worthy' and advised him to consider if he was 'shoe worthy'.
I also have some chunka boots, as we used to call them, that belonged to the Parish Administrator's father. After he died, she gave them to me and I've worn them ever since. I have one other pair of those green and tan over the ankle boots that I haven't worn since I got Marvin's shoes. They're at church too.
I guess I don't have as many shoes as most people. I used to have a pair of sneakers that I left in Anaheim after General Convention by mistake. I will get some when spring comes because I plan to walk a lot after I'm retired and lose enormous amounts of weight doing so.
This whole inventory of my clothes has something to do with my impending retirement, I know, I'm just not sure what.
I need to take inventory of my life as the end of April approaches. I think that's it. So I will ponder that.
How many clothes and shoes do you have? What color dominates? Can you ponder what all that means to you?
Just wondering.
One of the former Senators from Texas once said, "I have more guns than I need, but not as many as I want."
When I heard that I realized I was not like him....at least about guns.
I suppose I could say: "I don't have as many clothes and shoes as I need...but I have all that I want...."
I'm not sure what any of this means, but I will take it into my pondering and let you know if I come up with something....
Like most things, I have very few shoes. I have a pair of Berkinstock sandals I wear indoors in winter and always when spring comes. My current pair is tan and were a Xmas gift from my son and daughter-in-law in 2008. I checked the tread recently and think I can get another Spring/Summer/Fall out of them. I have a pair of Berkinstock clogs that are gray and many years old--I wore them one day recently in the snow and nearly fell down half-a-dozen times. They have no tread left at all and should be discarded. I have a pair of loafers I keep at church that are my burying/marrying shoes--just like my one suit that I keep at church.
At some one's funeral a member of the parish commented that I had on shoes. I told him the dead person was 'shoe worthy' and advised him to consider if he was 'shoe worthy'.
I also have some chunka boots, as we used to call them, that belonged to the Parish Administrator's father. After he died, she gave them to me and I've worn them ever since. I have one other pair of those green and tan over the ankle boots that I haven't worn since I got Marvin's shoes. They're at church too.
I guess I don't have as many shoes as most people. I used to have a pair of sneakers that I left in Anaheim after General Convention by mistake. I will get some when spring comes because I plan to walk a lot after I'm retired and lose enormous amounts of weight doing so.
This whole inventory of my clothes has something to do with my impending retirement, I know, I'm just not sure what.
I need to take inventory of my life as the end of April approaches. I think that's it. So I will ponder that.
How many clothes and shoes do you have? What color dominates? Can you ponder what all that means to you?
Just wondering.
One of the former Senators from Texas once said, "I have more guns than I need, but not as many as I want."
When I heard that I realized I was not like him....at least about guns.
I suppose I could say: "I don't have as many clothes and shoes as I need...but I have all that I want...."
I'm not sure what any of this means, but I will take it into my pondering and let you know if I come up with something....
Blue, blue, blue....
Just the other day I realized something I should have 'known'--you know what I mean? I realized a 'truth' that had, for God knows how long (I certainly don't, having no traffic with linear time) I should have known.
Almost every piece of clothing I own is some shade of blue.
Oh, I have a yellow rain jacket and two pairs of khaki pants--just two though--and some socks in other colors, and a couple (only a couple) of white, long sleeve shirts. But, for the most part, I dress in shades of blue that bleed into black.
I realized this because I was looking for a particular blue shirt the other day--a pull-over that didn't have ABT (American Ballet Theatre...my daughter's company) on the front. And what I found that made me a little crazy is about a dozen blue pull-overs...short-sheeved and long-sleeved--that weren't the one I wanted. Then I started looking at my closet and realized that almost every shirt I own is some shade of blue. (I do have two or three red short-sleeved shirts and some other tee shirts that aren't blue and a pullover that is gold because it is a WVU shirt someone gave me.) But what I wear is blue of some hue.
I don't own many clothes. I have a suit I keep at church that is my marrying and burying suit. It is basically brown but with blue lines running through it. Like lots of my clothes, I bought it at the consignment shop and was, now that I look back on it through these new blue eyes, attracted to it because of the blue threads....
I have two khaki pants and two pairs of, you've figured it out, right? BLUE jeans. That's really all the pants I have. And when a pair of them wears out or something, I go replace them with pants from Marshall's that match them as best I can. From what is clean and in my closet right now, I have about a dozen pull over shirts and 9 of them are some shade of blue or black...though 'black', as I think of it, doesn't really have 'shades'. Black is like pregnant--it's either black or not, it seems to me.
I have three white button up shirts, two are white and one is white with, of all things, salmon (or pink, if you want to be honest) stripes. I have three other long sleeve button up shirts that are all some shade of blue. (My summer shirts are in the other room now, but I bet if I went to see them there would be a couple of red polo shirts and one white one and all the rest would be blue of some kind and black.
So, I ask myself, when did this happen? When did I become an essentially 'blue' man?
I have four sweaters I wear. One is black, one is deep blue and the other two or lighter shades of blue. Go figure....
The thing is, if you had asked me, off-handedly, sometime last week, what colors I wore, I would have probably told you, "I wear a whole rainbow of colors--never the same two days in a row...." And I would have meant it.
Surprise, surprise....How truly unconscious I am about any number of things. Over the years I've filled my closet and drawers with 'blue' stuff--my pajamas bottoms are all blue except for one dark brown and one yellow Sponge Bob Square Pants that I got from Pauline when I was in the hospital after cancer surgery five or six years ago.
That's another thing I didn't know--I remember where I got most every piece of my scant number of clothes....Not hard since most were from the consignment shop or Marshall's....But something to ponder anyway.
I'm all blue....What color are you? Ponder that.....
Almost every piece of clothing I own is some shade of blue.
Oh, I have a yellow rain jacket and two pairs of khaki pants--just two though--and some socks in other colors, and a couple (only a couple) of white, long sleeve shirts. But, for the most part, I dress in shades of blue that bleed into black.
I realized this because I was looking for a particular blue shirt the other day--a pull-over that didn't have ABT (American Ballet Theatre...my daughter's company) on the front. And what I found that made me a little crazy is about a dozen blue pull-overs...short-sheeved and long-sleeved--that weren't the one I wanted. Then I started looking at my closet and realized that almost every shirt I own is some shade of blue. (I do have two or three red short-sleeved shirts and some other tee shirts that aren't blue and a pullover that is gold because it is a WVU shirt someone gave me.) But what I wear is blue of some hue.
I don't own many clothes. I have a suit I keep at church that is my marrying and burying suit. It is basically brown but with blue lines running through it. Like lots of my clothes, I bought it at the consignment shop and was, now that I look back on it through these new blue eyes, attracted to it because of the blue threads....
I have two khaki pants and two pairs of, you've figured it out, right? BLUE jeans. That's really all the pants I have. And when a pair of them wears out or something, I go replace them with pants from Marshall's that match them as best I can. From what is clean and in my closet right now, I have about a dozen pull over shirts and 9 of them are some shade of blue or black...though 'black', as I think of it, doesn't really have 'shades'. Black is like pregnant--it's either black or not, it seems to me.
I have three white button up shirts, two are white and one is white with, of all things, salmon (or pink, if you want to be honest) stripes. I have three other long sleeve button up shirts that are all some shade of blue. (My summer shirts are in the other room now, but I bet if I went to see them there would be a couple of red polo shirts and one white one and all the rest would be blue of some kind and black.
So, I ask myself, when did this happen? When did I become an essentially 'blue' man?
I have four sweaters I wear. One is black, one is deep blue and the other two or lighter shades of blue. Go figure....
The thing is, if you had asked me, off-handedly, sometime last week, what colors I wore, I would have probably told you, "I wear a whole rainbow of colors--never the same two days in a row...." And I would have meant it.
Surprise, surprise....How truly unconscious I am about any number of things. Over the years I've filled my closet and drawers with 'blue' stuff--my pajamas bottoms are all blue except for one dark brown and one yellow Sponge Bob Square Pants that I got from Pauline when I was in the hospital after cancer surgery five or six years ago.
That's another thing I didn't know--I remember where I got most every piece of my scant number of clothes....Not hard since most were from the consignment shop or Marshall's....But something to ponder anyway.
I'm all blue....What color are you? Ponder that.....
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