It’s Sunday. I tried to make it a day of rest but also a bit of walking and exercise. The priest today recommended prayer and some reading of scripture. I read a funny (to me) mock review of the Bible by the Italian thinker Umberto Eco that went something like, “it’s a well-written book, but there’s too much sex in it for my taste.” Haha.
I went to the local convenience store to cash in some small winning lottery tickets, but a sudden, heavy thunderstorm shut down their satellite-run scanning machine for winning tickets, so I was stuck there, not wanting to get soaked. Another customer offered to drive me back to my humble abode. She was an older woman who said she was from suburban Maryland but had an apartment here in Florida. I didn’t mention I had grown up mainly in suburban Maryland, or the derogatory joke DC people told about Montgomery county, Maryland, where I had lived: “loco in Moco,” as in all Montgomery county people are crazy.
We put her things in the back of her SUV, and I pulled my outer shirt up over my face because I had lost track of my Covid-19 mask. I mentioned that a lot of the land across from where I lived in this area as a child is now developed into fancy beach houses but was only wild woods back then, and that I was a reporter and teacher for a while, now an independent writer, and looking for something new. I may have talked too much on the drive to my place. She was nice enough but told me to take care. I always wonder when people say that.