Jesus spoke of a time when there would be “weeping and gnashing of teeth.” He was of course looking into the future to the eternal residence of those who will be cast out.
There are two other possible interpretations.
The first was October 14, 1992. If you don’t know that date (which to borrow from President Franklin Delano Roosevelt, will live in infamy) don’t call your self a Pittsburgh Pirate fan (of course, amnesia might be preferable to remembering the wimpy throw from pre-druggie Barry Bonds, and the limping, lumbering slide by former Pirate Sid Bream).
The second was yesterday. Almost. My traveling companion and I were asking each other, “Did you remember to pack the BLANK?” And we were each of us pleased to be able to answer, “Yes.” Until, with the Red Hot Chili Pepper fully loaded, we were heading for the door and parts south, when Bonnie asked, “Did you get our passports?” Had she not asked that most important question, there would have been weeping and gnashing of teeth, and the Crown Princess could have sailed without us.
Great question! Alex Trebek would have called it – incorrectly – a “clue”.
A few weeks ago, Bonnie, Michael, and I watched the premier of a TV show called “Shipping Wars.” It’s about four people in the transportation business who underbid each other for unusual shipping jobs. One of the items was a horse made out of automobile bumpers that used to sit outside of Mile High Stadium. Made in honor of the Denver Broncos, it ended up in Ripley’s Believe it or Not in New York. Ripley’s wanted it transported to St. Augustine, to their museum there. Driving down SR 16 this morning, guess what we saw. Yup.
Before finding the horse, we were sitting once again in Ihop having breakfast – no snatch and grabs, and much better service – when an aroma brought back precious memories.
I was sipping coffee, and enjoying Harvest Grain ‘N Nut pancakes (soak them in syrup, and eat from the outside to the melted butter in the center) when someone walked past and the scent of Woodbury After Shave lingered in the air.
It is a distinctive, clean smell. There was always a bottle of it in the medicine cabinet at 117 Shenandoah Avenue in Loch Lynn, Maryland. It was the after shave my Dad used. I once bought him Old Spice, and he thanked me, splashed some on, sat the bottle on the shelf beside the Woodbury, and never opened it again.
I haven’t smelled Woodbury in almost 16 years. Dad died on June 18, 1996.
Whoever you were with the great old-fashioned scent, thanks for the memories.
Moment of silence.
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