September 21, 2012 – Friday

Pentoga Road

I missed my substitute teacher meeting earlier this week as I thought it was on Wednesday rather than Tuesday. Since I was off a day, I assumed the check-in for the Women’s Fall Retreat was on Thursday. I was wrong, it’s today.

It was both a delight and disappointment when I discovered the news yesterday morning. I arrived at work mentally prepared to greet throngs of mostly-elderly ladies ready for three days of rock ‘em/ sock ‘em Lutheran fellowship. Instead, I sat at the desk and entered accounts receivable, answered the phone, and listened to the local gossip on Telephone Time while sipping coffee.

Having worked my half a day, I left shortly before noon. Sargie met me at the door and we decided to move another load from her old home to Pentoga.

We stopped at the log church in Mansfield. I’m not sure why the old structure has such an attraction for us. We walked inside, hugged, and stood enveloped in silence. Sargie said she awakened Thursday morning with a feeling she ought to stop by during the day. As it turned out, I needed to make a camp deposit at the bank in Crystal Falls so it was convenient and more than just a little coincidental.

I had the reaffirmation yesterday that going to church doesn’t have to always happen on a Sunday morning; nor does one need to be surrounded by fellow congregants. There was more spiritual energy in the silent and empty log church in Mansfield on a rainy Thursday afternoon than I’ve felt in a conventional structure in many years.

I’m almost hesitant to say this, but I believe we’re starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel concerning moving Sargie’s possessions. Since her old house was furnished, we’ve only had one truckload of furnishings to haul, the rest has fit inside the Blazer. There’ll be another truckload in the next week containing a bench, the gas grill, a couple of outside chairs, etc.

The biggest amount of time Thursday was spent at a storage unit, sorting, stacking, piling, and otherwise trying to make sense out which box contained what.

Supper was eaten at Taco Bell in Iron Mountain. I called son, Andy, to ask what the best meal was on the menu and according to my Bellologist, it’s a #6. I’m not sure what I ate, but it was certainly filling. No doubt there were some food groups in #6, I’m just not certain they were healthy ones.

I’m seriously concerned about some of my functions diminishing with old age. I have to work harder and harder to keep the body from sagging around my ankles and I’m not nearly as agile as I once was.

But, what really bothers me is… I think my taste buds are going awry.

I remember when I chomped into my first Taco Bell meal. It was heavenly. The hamburger was hot, the cheese melted, and the secret Latino herbs and spices were blended in such a way to compliment the river of grease that flowed down my chin.

I’m concerned. In my more mature years, my taste buds have developed a fondness for yucky things like vegetables, salads, and… gulp… healthy eating.

So what’s next, actually liking soup and half a sandwich for supper once or twice a week followed by a cup of hot tea? Will I have a penchant to visit the Bob Evans chain of restaurants and order from the senior side of the menu?

I’m seriously concerned. I hear it’s the taste buds that go first, then the mind follows. I better call ahead and reserve my wheel chair in the old folk’s home.

We spent Thursday evening unpacking. I stopped at eight to read and grade assignments. Sargie worked in the kitchen until bedtime. It was two tired and sleepy kids with diminishing taste buds who went to bed last night.

Assuming I survive today, I think I’ll measure the flue tomorrow and ride the four-wheeler into town to purchase a chimney brush. The wood stove has a catalytic converter and burns very clean, but the flue needs to be thoroughly scrubbed to prevent any future chimney fires. Other than that, the world’s the limit.

And so are the tales from the house on Pentoga Road…