Who says theologians don’t have a sense of humor? I just got back from my treadmill test all hooked up with leads and wires to monitor my heart for the next 48 hours and poured myself a fully loaded cup of coffee. Claudia told me about getting the grandkids off to school this morning after I’d left for the clinic and handed over her “Presbyterian Handbook” which had a short chapter identical to this post’s heading. If all else fails they recommend asking your executioners for dry wood to make your exit from the world less onerous than it would be if they used wet, green and smoking wood.
I did myself proud managing to keep up with ever speeded up and inclinated treadmill for fourteen minutes until my heart was beating fast enough for ultrasound. I was told that marathoners can take up to 22 minutes to reach the fevered pitch necessary to take that ultrasound. The typical geriatric only lasts 7 or 8 minutes. These tests and the knowledge that its too late to stop the bargaining process with a reset button will do wonders for my tranquility. I have to forgive myself a bit. Having some useful affect on a process that was already four months old by the time I was seated on the Board was a little like hopping on to a rapidly spinning merry-go-round from a stationary jump.
Knowing that I have little control over a bleak future may end up being less stressful than the illusion of having control and furiously trying to exercise the illusion.
I’ll just add this little tribute to the lead negotiator from the teacher’s union. These are the lyrics to a camp song I learned as a child:
She sailed away on a sunny summer day on the back of a crocodile,
“You see,” said she, “he’s as tame as tame can be;
I’ll ride him down the Nile,”
The croc winked his eye as she bade them all goodbye, wearing a happy smile,
At the end of the ride the lady was inside, and the smile was on the crocodile!
I love mixing metaphors!
