Stopped at Starbucks this morning. Not many parking places in front of the Village of Coventry store, and some numbskull had parked really really crooked, taking up two spaces. I squeezed my truck into the adjacent space and went inside, looking for the culprit. About four customers were there. My eyes settled on a 30ish fellow wearing a t-shirt and a New York Yankees cap. Yes, it was him. “Jerk,” I muttered under my breath.

I got my decaf and returned to my truck. The car was still there, and Yankee Man was still inside. Being in a particularly juvenile frame of mind, I determined to leave something under his windshield wiper. I found a blank piece of paper in the truck and wrote on it, in big letters, “Is this the best you can do?” Now, the trick would be sticking it under a wiper blade without Bride of Steinbrenner catching me and, in a Billy Martinesque fashion, whooping my butt. This was, indeed, a concern.

I mustered my pseudo-courage and exited the truck, standing on the passenger side of this felonious car which, I noted, was a Mercedes. Jerkboy drove a Mercedes. But just as I prepared to dart to the windshield vicinity, a 50ish woman with poofy blonde hair, the type of woman who occupies an expansive suburban home and spends vast quantities of time at the beauty parlor being pampered, exited Starbucks and headed my way. Headed to the Benz, in fact.

I slunk back into my truck, paper still in hand, mission unaccomplished. I started up the truck and pulled away. But as I drove past this woman, now at her car door, I gave her a Look. You know, a Highly Disapproving Look. I don’t think she noticed. But if she did, I’m sure it tormented her upwards of three seconds.

Consolation prize: on the way to work, I passed a silver Corvette broke down beside the highway, the hood up, the driver peering at the engine in puzzlement. I felt happy.

Sometimes, the awe-inspiring transcendence of my maturity overwhelms me.

We’ve had a couple and their baby living with us since last December, helping them out until they can get established on their own–which appears, at this point, still a long way away. Tonight, Allen and I sat out on the porch talking for a couple of hours. I didn’t manage to work any great spiritual insights into our conversation, and I feel a silly guilt about that. But I think he appreciated talking.

People at church and work continually warn me about being “enablers.” I understand what they’re talking about. But at the same time, I’ve been questioning the whole concept, at least as it applies in this situation. Because I’m not sure how much “enablement” is part of God’s vocabulary. God, after all, is the one who said to forgive your brother 70 times 7 times. How much more enabling is that? Shouldn’t you give a person a few chances to get it right, and then give up? Why is God so naive?

I’ve decided that “enabling” is very much an American concept that fits with our values of rugged individualism, self-responsibility, etc. I’m not so sure it fits the spirit of Jesus. Should we kick our guests out, because we’re just enabling them (making life easy for them)? Should we declare that not enough progress has been shown in self-responsiblility, accept that we’re just throwing pearls before swine, and send them on their way? Is that what Jesus would do?

I don’t think so. Stuff like this–the issues I wrestle with, the frustrations that lead to insights into what I perceive as the mind of God–show me that their presence in our home is as much for my benefit as for theirs. God has shown me things about himself and about my own stupid paradigms that would never have come apart from taking in this couple who had no place to go, and showing them love which occasionally borders on “unconditional.”

We were in Borders Bookstore, and I heard a lady asking a clerk about “that woman author who writes mysteries that all start with a letter.” She wanted to get some books from that series for somebody she knew.

Well, I’m an authority on all things related to detective novels, and here was a chance to flaunt my knowledge.

I walked over and casually said, “The author is Sara Paretsky.” I then spelled out “Paretsky.” She thanked me, and I walked away, a good deed done. The customer and the clerk were now on the right path.

About ten minutes later, it hit me: it’s Sue Grafton. Sara Paretsky writes the V. I. Warshawski novels. Sue Grafton does the “alphabet” books starring the intrepid Kinsey Millhone.

I wanted to slink away in humiliation. The clerk had probably found the right author and told the customer, “That guy doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

I am not, after all, infallible.

This has been an interesting week. I used all of last week as vacation. Pam and I haven’t actually taken a vacation together–just the two of us, without other family–for probably five years. We didn’t do that last week either, but we did have the week to ourselves, in a way. Allen, Carolyn, and Connor took a quick trip to Florida, so we were left with the house to ourselves for the first time in seven months. Kinda forgot what that was like. Nice.

I’ve been using most of my vacation time, for several years, doing freelance work. So it’s not really vacation. I decided that I was going to do only minimal freelance work, and otherwise spend the week doing stuff that I wanted to do, no matter how frivolous. I did spend a few hours Wednesday redesigning some pages on my RandomPokes.com site, but when I began the process of uploading them, the computer froze up, and I’ve not been able to get back into that drive. Has me a bit worried; maybe it crashed and can’t be recovered. But at the same time, I haven’t spent time trying to fix it. Rather, I’ve pretty much been taking a break from the computer world. And that, too, is nice. Beginning tomorrow, I’ll see if I can resurrect our main computer. Doing so this week would have felt too much like, well, work.

On Thursday I tried fixing up Pam’s laundry room in the basement by adding a bunch of shelving on both sides of the room. Made two trips to Lowes for supplies, and got most of it done before Pam came home from work. In between, I took myself to the Flattop Grill for lunch (I like it, but Pam doesn’t). Then went to Barnes Noble for a bit (I can kill an infinite number of hours in bookstores).

Pam took Friday off. We ate breakfast with my parents, who just returned from a cross-country trip to Washington State, and then we did a bunch of work around the house. Yesterday I finished making my garage all spic and span. The place looks neat and clean now.

So it’s been an enjoyable week.

Last night presented somewhat of a crisis. Allen and Carolyn, on their way back from Florida, got stuck in Ringgold, Georgia. Transmission went out. Carolyn’s aunt came down from Knoxville to pick them up, getting there around midnight. I helped Allen arrange to have their car towed to Knoxville. Just talked to Allen. He thinks the car is running okay, and they plan to head back tomorrow morning. We’re praying they make it just fine.

So that’s been my week. Or at least, that’s all I’m gonna report in this particular post.

I feel like Uma Thurman, buried alive in “Kill Bill, Vol 2,” busting out of her wooden coffin and straining to the surface. Hello, I’m still alive. Haven’t been posting anything for a while. But my existance continues.

For the past six weeks, i’ve been totally immersed in responsibilities related to our denomination’s bienniel conference. We’ve got 920 people coming, far more than expected, totally over-running our facility and spreading out over six other hotels. This is the first time we’ve done a convention this way…and it seems to be a wee bit popular.

So anyway, I’ve had plenty of things to write about, but time only to think about them, not actually write them. My life for the past six weeks has consisted of designing all manner of promotional materials–brochures, reports, nametags, handouts, Powerpoint slides, mounted posters, DVD labels, and anything else that needs a graphic designer’s touch. Plus, I’ve written lots of stuff, and edited everybody’s reports.

Poor, poor me. At least I’m getting paid for this. Lots of other people are working tirelessly as volunteers, in addition to their day jobs. We’ve got some really good people. I look forward to getting better acquainted.

But for now, I need to burrow back into the earth. But I’ll emerge for good in a few days, and I’m sure I’ll have some incredibly profound–not!–things to waste bytes on.