My hands smell like cinnamon hazelnut coffee. I thought I’d share that.
Some of you may recall me mentioning that my doctor rocks my socks off. It seems that he likes me too. Half the time when I go up to the student health center, all I really need is to get my weight and blood pressure checked and pick up a prescription. For that you usually just see a nurse. However, my doctor likes to talk theology and writing with me, so he changes the schedule so I see him pretty much every time.
Yesterday when I went to pick up my prescription he had gifts: samples of the asthma drug I take, and a manuscript box containing a copy of his unpublished book. He’d told me about it before, and shown bits of it to me on the computer. It’s sort of a supernatural thriller, about a Marine grunt from Kentucky who gets killed in Vietnam, and, totally to his nominal Baptist surprise, ends up on “the porch,” – in Purgatory. In order to make it into heaven a little faster, he’s given the assignment of helping his boyhood friend back on earth find his way to salvation. It’s really an amazing story. I started reading it sitting out in the sun on the wall outside the Student Health Center in the gap time before my next appointment, and finished it as soon as I got home. It made me laugh so many times. I couldn’t stop reading until I got to the last page. When I was done I had tears in my eyes. It’s not perfect – I’ll have some suggestions to make when we talk about it over Christmas break – but, man, that doc can write!
In other news, my baby brother had his last Freshman football game on Tuesday. I cut class so I could go. It’s funny – I’m not much of a one for school spirit, even though they were playing our old archrivals. In my planner I had the event listed as Boy-o vs. Altar. My baby brother is growing up. He’s so tall, and he’s developing quite a pair of shoulders. He doesn’t look like a little boy anymore. Sigh. I must mention, however, that it was incredibly cold. After the game I headed over to Panera to hang out before Women’s Group. It took a bowl of black bean soup, a mug of hot tea, and twenty minutes sitting right in front of the fire before I started feeling really warm again.
Also, I’m letting the world know that I’m going swing dancing on the Saturday after Thanksgiving, all day. And I don’t care what else you schedule or want to do, I’m not going to be available. I’m going to be swing dancing. The only exception is a death in the family. My immediate family. Of blood relatives. (‘SupDoc: “But what if I die, and that’s the day of the funeral?” Me: “I’ll pray for you while I’m dancing.”) You have been notified.