It's morning and I'm high up in the Colorado mountains where the snow covered peaks are blanketed by a bleach blue sky that will gradually morph into a dark saffire sky later in the day. The Sun is bedazzling with its usual morning yellow hue.
This old forgotten mining town is just now beginning to wake up and Jake, the newspaper boy, who can be seen half walking, half jogging between the yards is bringing us the terrible news of the death of boxing legend, Cassius Clay. It is indeed a sad day in America.
As bad as that news is...the usual morning sounds of lawn mowers and zooming cars on Colorado Blvd is dominating the more tranquil melodies of the chickadees and the mourning doves.
The old spinster, Miss Periwinkle, who lives down on 12th is walking her little dog, Pepper, down Virginia Street which snakes up against the Canyon wall just behind the Lucas House. As is her custom, she is scolding Pepper for lunging uselessly at the squirrels negotiating the telephone wires like trapeez artists.
From my perch, high atop the Lucas Manse from the second floor kitchen window, I see Charlie Basco leaving in his old 1997 Ford 150 pickup headed as usual to Marion's Diner, a favorite breakfast nook of the "Greatest Generation" out on the wonderfully tacky east side of town.
Paul, the town locksmith, appears to be running a bit late this morning as he is just now coming out of his garage while slamming the door and gathering up his tools and throwing them into his ancient dirty once white van for his customary morning trip into town.
After getting dressed, I put some ground coffee into my camp percolater basket and fill the percolator with water and then fire up the gas stove. While the coffee is brewing I grab the bacon out of the fridge and drop each strip onto a hot skillet. Next, I crack the eggs into the rendered bacon grease and scramble them into a yellowish white mosaic.
I put the eggs and bacon onto a plate and grab a cup of searing hot coffee mixed with half and half and put it all on an oversized platter and carry it into the tiney anteroom on the west side of the second floor where I have a view of the mountains and of Virginia and Spring Gulch Canyons.
After placing the platter onto the coffee table I walk over to the window and open it up allowing the cool spring air which is now laced with the fragrances of lilac and hydrangeas to permeate the usual morning stuffiness of the second floor.
After my morning breakfast ritual I delve into my devotion time using a combination of books and the Bible. I then meditate and pray on what I just read. During the meditation time I try to sit as still and quiet as I can to allow God to talk to me in my now concentrated but open consciousness.
It's after this time in the morning that I am now ready to walk the half mile down to the Frothy Cup Coffee Shop where I hold court in my office which consists of a square table with a painted border of bird like characters.
My table apparently has adopted two really bored looking chairs who appear as if they would be much happier outside on the sidewalk in the warm sun. But, here there are resigned to their fate inside with me.
And, here I sit awaiting the morning coffee crowd which shuffles in across the well weathered wood plank floor on their way to the coffee bar to order their favorite wake up medicine.
Invariably, the locals come up to my table to greet me asking how my morning is developing. Some will plop down enlightening me with their troubles and daily problems. I listen quietly but hold off proffering advice unless asked.
Inevitably, I meet up with Amy P at the Frothy Cup. Her work schedule at the pizza joint keeps her hopping 4 to 5 days a week. On her days off we go hiking, hang out at McDonald's or congregate at the park along Clear Creek to watch the rafters go sailing atop the whitewater rapids. We have become fast friends.
Her conversations usually gravitate towards her boyfriend who lives "down the hill" in Denver. They don't get many opportunities to get together so she confides her laments to me. All I can do is listen and tell her to keep her chin up. Things have a way of working out I believe.
When dusk finally settles over the Canyon I start walking back to the Lucas House and once inside the now darkening manse I begin turning on the dim lights and trudge up the narrow and long steep staircase to my living quarters on the second floor.
I begin the necessary duty of preparing the supper meal. If it's Friday I get the house ready for my discussion group where we jump into controversial subjects like politics and the 2016 Presidential race. Or we discuss religious topics like reincarnation, what does "salvation" really mean. That kinda thing.
If it's Wednesday evening I walk on over to the Blackwells and break bread...or meatloaf with them and Jerry H. Then, afterwards, it's off to Wednesday night Bible study at First Baptist Church starring Duke University educated Pastor Dawit who incidentally is from Ethiopia. We are currently studying the Book of Revelation where I am unlearning it as a literal work and jumping into the allegorical and metaphorical dimensions. It's an amazing study thanks to Dawit.
Monday and Thursday I disciple both myself and Mike H who hungers for deep theological knowledge and is an apt student to be sure.
Sunday is spent attending Calvary Evergreen Church in the morning. Now, as the newly appointed Campus Pastor of Calvary Idaho Springs satellite Church I will be busy Sunday evenings as well helping with services at 6:30 pm at the Frothy Cup our current venue. We are also organizing different weekly ministries for all church attendees to participate.
So, Saturday is my day off, so to speak. I'll check out some DVDs from the library usually classics or documentaries especially histories featuring Ken Burns.
As Saturday night appears I'll kick off my shoes and watch my videos while sipping some Xingtea or Mandarin soda and smoking a cigar or one of my tobacco pipes. Then, I'll read a bit until my drowsy eyelids start getting heavy and I have to admit to myself that it's time to give in to the enivitable that the day is over. Then it's off to bedlam to await the dawn of a brand new day. A redo. A clean slate if you will. Another chance to make things right. A walk with God in the cool of a dewey morning where the fog lays down in the woods outside town. A time for contemplation and prayer where solitude reigns.
With that, I will see you on the sunnyside of the road up ahead. Maybe, we can grab a cup of coffee and talk of the things of life.
BR Schoenbein
June 4, 2016- Saturday
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