September Sunday

Now that's how a day during the long weekend should be: slow, relaxing, and yet productive in its own way.

I wasn't going to mention church, but since a pertinent issue was raised at the pulpit today, I might as well start there. The current slogan for the United Methodist Church is "Open hearts. Open minds. Open doors." The minister spoke about how churchgoers can get comfortable in their insular worlds, be it residential communities or places of worship. He wants people to be capable of reaching outside those zones to strangers, including those in the pews they don't know, and inviting them in.

He said that this church gets a lot of visitors, yet only six percent return to become further involved. (I don't remember if he was talking about becoming members or what. I wasn't taking notes.) The average--and I find this hard to believe--is thirty percent. That's a huge difference.

I have a few reservations about the place, but the reason I've kept coming back is because the church noticed I've attended. Granted, I'm mostly invisible on Sundays, but they're doing better than other places I've visited.

First on my day's unwritten to do list was finishing Jennifer Egan's The Keep. The book turned out to be not at all what I expected. (No, I didn't think I was getting F. Paul Wilson's horror novel of the same name.) Synchronicity must have led me to pluck the book from the library shelf as it is concerned with communication and connectedness in this modern ageand art, writing in particular, as a means of discovering and protecting what is dearest to us, topics I return to again and again. The narrator shift is very jarring the first time--insert cartoon sound of tires squealing from vigorously applied brakes--but I like how Egan used the device.

The weekend must have been making me a little stir crazy, so I went to Starbucks for a coffee and knitting in public. I plugged away at the Asherton Reversible Scarf and was happy that I didn't lose my place in the pattern. There are 44 rows in the repeat, with every two rows being the same. It shouldn't be hard to keep track of where I'm supposed to be, but on several occasions the last two times I've knit it I've needed to refer to the cast on tail to remind me what row I should be knitting.

I don't know if it was the caffeine, but I felt the need to be on the move. Since we've enjoyed good weather this weekend, I decided I ought to take advantage of it while it lasts. I put my knitting and a book in my backpack and grabbed a water bottle that I'd refilled with tap water. I set out on foot for the park. I would get in some exercise, take a break to knit and read, and finish my walking routine around the park.

Do you ever put on anything that makes you feel different? Maybe it's a favorite piece of clothing that inspires a more confident attitude or makes you feel comfortable. I slipped my arms through both backpack straps, set out on foot, and felt like I was ready to embark on an adventure. I stood straighter and got an energy boost. Or maybe that was the coffee.

I made one trip around the park--a canvassing mission, if you will--in search of a tree with shade for knitting and reading. I took note of and ruled out where dog owners were taking their pets for quick relief before settling on one of the trees behind the elementary school. I sat down and brushed away the few fibers of a spider's web that I felt on my head. I resumed knitting the scarf, although the process was interrupted more frequently than I anticipated it would be. The sensation of black ants and tan millipedes traversing my legs was disruptive enough that I had to pause every so often to flick them off.

My soundtrack was the soft breeze rustling the leaves, children having fun on the playground equipment, and the friendly chatter of Hispanics playing a pick-up soccer game. I don't know Spanish, but there's one insult the players exchanged that I could discern from the many other words unknown to me. (Subtitled movies can be educational.) The air was like cotton candy, light, sweet, and sticky when it met the moisture on my brow. I was at peace knitting. If only it weren't for those bugs.

I tired of being a climbing wall for insects, so I packed up my knitting and held off starting Michael Chabon's The Yiddish Policemen's Union for tonight. I walked the rest of the concrete, blacktop, and grass path that I follow for exercise while taking in the scent of charcoal grills dotting the remainder of my jaunt.

It hasn't been a remarkable day, but it's brought welcome calmness before the inevitable post-Labor Day storm. I hope you've been able to find some tranquility too.