Keeping still on a Sunday sabbath afternoon.
Last night I visited the annual Wild West Festival in Hays with several of the brothers. One of the St. Fidelis friars gifted us with complimentary tickets to the four-day event. We strolled the fairgrounds and sampled the carnival foods. Ten dollars bought me a walk through a mirrored funhouse and a dose of adrenaline stimulated by the g-forces from the Hang Glider and Orbiter. With an audience of a few hundred we watched a young country musician, Easton Corbin, do his thing on the concert stage until about 10:30. My untrained ears did their best to distinguish Corbin's sound and the songs, but it was with little success. I've had many more years of experience listening to and performing rock, jazz, and classical music: I can hear it better. The spirit of music that originates in the souls of black folk, the river of music that has the blues as its source: this is the spirit and spring that lives in me.
Arose this morning at quarter to nine; one of the last weekends I'll be able to sleep late. Attended 10 o'clock Mass at St. Fidelis Church, as I have done every Sunday since arrival. Late breakfast and the syndicated crossword puzzle, followed by computing and corresponding. Now, to edit a vocation story for one of my postulant brothers, perchance finally to write my own this evening. In between I will return to A Theology of Liberation by Gutierrez and The Secular City by Cox. I have one week to finish these books. They belong to the friary library; I can't take them with me to California. Going to drop Love and Will by Rollo May; there is not enough time to read it and digest it well.